


Trothsworn

by Catsitta



Series: Oathbound [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Angst, Arranged Marriage, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Kedgeup, King Papyrus (Undertale), M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Undertale Neutral Route - King Papyrus Ending, Power Imbalance, Pregnancy, Promptober 2020, Promtober, Sans (Undertale) Has Issues, Some Humor, Spicy Kedgeup, Spicy Kustard - Freeform, Swearing, Ultimatums, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), daily updates, kustard - Freeform, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 42,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsitta/pseuds/Catsitta
Summary: First bound to serve crown and country by the Judge living in his bones, no matter the cost of the order. Then tied in marriage to save his fractured timeline from further destruction by invaders from a different universe. Sans is really sick of promises, but he’s resigned to keeping them. Every King needs an heir, and Sans...he just wants a bottle of ketchup.Spicy Kedgeup | Sequel | Promtober 2020
Relationships: Alphys/Undyne (Undertale), Papyrus/Sans (Undertale), Sans/Papyrus/Sans (Undertale), Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Oathbound [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947754
Comments: 613
Kudos: 235





	1. Fish

**Author's Note:**

> As per popular choice on my tumblr poll, promtober this year will be spent writing another installment of the Oathbound universe! Chapters will be posted daily for 31 days and vary in length. So consistency? Who is she? Don't know her. But thank you for joining me and I hope you enjoy it!

Thunderous knocking, loud enough to rouse the sleeping dead, started Sans awake. He lurched, only to be shoved back into the sheets, a large form covering him. Pinpricks of red burned in the otherwise total darkness. Little sparks of hellfire. Childish laughter echoed in the back of his skull—erupting from the throat of a demon clad in human skin. Sans’ magic flared in response, all primitive fear, but a seize of pain in his soul left him limp and dazed. He heard muttered cursing. The heavy weight lifted off of him and with a click, lights came on. 

Oh.

Right.

He was married. To the King. And a Judge couldn’t do harm upon his monarch. The Deltarune blazed like an internal choke chain, uncaring that Sans had been trying to fight off nightmares instead of his unwanted spouse. Edge kept muttering curses as he pulled on his pants and the knocking continued, even more persistent than before. “Someone better be dead,” Edge growled, stalking to the door. The moment he turned the lock, the door flew open, bouncing off the wall and revealing…Undyne?! She was alive in this world?

Clad in battered armor, helmet under one arm, there was no mistaking the fish monster for anyone else, even with her shredded fins and jagged scars. 

“WHY HAVE YOU DISTURBED ME IN MY PRIVATE CHAMBERS, CAPTAIN?”

Undyne cocked her head, yellow eye zeroing in on Sans over Edge’s shoulder, toothy grin wide, all venom and spite, and if he had skin, it would be crawling. “Am I interrupting something, your _majesty_ ,” she sneered. Sans instinctive pulled up the sheet to cover bare ribs, his ever present sense of shame hammering him into a half-curled ball. He wasn’t much to look at—just a bag of bones, heh—even by skeleton standards he wasn’t exactly pretty. But Undyne’s gaze was more than judgemental. It was picking him apart, limb-from-limb, like he was a threat that she’d be happiest crushing to dust underneath a booted heel. 

Edge didn’t even look back, “THAT IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. CEASE BEING INSUBORDINATE AND REPORT.”

“Fuhuhu! Just admit you two were working on an heir.”

“Undyne…”

Why was the tension so thick? And why did Undyne even care?! Sans outright buried himself under the sheet.

“OH MY GOD, HE’S ACTUALLY HIDING! WHAT KIND OF PUNK ASS PIECE OF LEVEL BAIT DID YOU FUCKIN’ MARRY?”

“UNDYNE! I WILL THROW YOU DOWN THE STAIRS HEAD FIRST IF YOU DO NOT DESIST!”

“I dare you!”

With a snarl, Edge stomped his way out, slamming the door behind him. What ensued was a series of incomprehensible shouts and thuds that were oddly comforting in their familiarity. Sans could almost imagine himself back in his own universe, Undyne and Papyrus roughhousing in the name of friendship and guard training. He never knew anybody other than those two to be happiest after a sporting brawl, covered in bruises but grinning like maniacs. Sans almost preferred it to the slightly singed sight of them after a cooking lesson gone wrong.

Eventually, he fell back asleep, only to be roused by Edge’s weight causing the mattress to dip. Sans peeked from under the blankets to see him pulling on his boots. He didn’t even need a CHECK to notice the new levity to his husband, his shoulders straight, his magic calm. 

“you two work things out?” 

“In a way.”

A pause.

“you’re a very physical monster.”

“A critique of my character?”

“an observation.”

Edge looked over at him, “Not all matters can be settled with words alone. The Captain is in an unique position to provoke a less than diplomatic reaction from myself.”

“you could just say you two are friends,” Sans yawned. “what’s her deal with me, though? red piss in her cheerios one too many times and she takin’ it out on the squishy doppelganger who won’t shank her in a back alley for giggles?”

His unwanted husband stood, back to Sans, having once more retreated behind a certain, wary stiffness, “Her behavior was...to be expected. And the fault for it is mostly my own. But she is aware that any further aspersions upon your character or attempts to discomfort you will be met with the strictest discipline. You are my prince consort and are entitled to the respect that status provides.”

“right...whelp. i’ll be here.”

Edge turned, leaning slightly, as if about to steal a quick kiss, but he straightened, having caught himself. Kissing was a prelude to intimacy. Sans wasn’t sure if he was relieved or displeased by the situation. They weren’t exactly in a hand-holding, kisses and cuddles sort of arrangement. Sex was sex and for the purpose of creating heirs—physical intimacy making it easier for their souls to emerge and bonds forged. But as to be expected when you literally bared your soul to another, connections were forming...at least for Sans. He didn’t _want_ to feel this way. However, he couldn’t deny that a small, traitorous part of him yearned for a flickering candle in the dark. (As if a kiss goodbye would fill the void that was a marriage built without love at its foundation.)

“I will return by this evening. My brother should be by with your meals in my absence,” Edge said as he began to strap on his armor. A shiny, formal set with minimal scratches and dents. Made to be easy to wear while at the same time look appropriately intimidating. With a flicker of a fur-trimmed cloak, he left, door closing behind him, leaving Sans behind once more.


	2. Wisp

Boredom. 

It plagued Sans whenever the brothers were gone. Not much had changed from before the wedding in terms of entertainment value offered by the bedroom during the day. And while it had been a couple days, Sans still hadn’t left. Edge gave him permission to explore the rest of the master's chambers, as there was more to them than this room and the bath, but he simply didn’t have the motivation to do so. What was the point? With the rare exception of when Edge needed to show him off like a shiny trophy, Sans was to be confined, essentially imprisoned. He could explore the extent of his cage, but it was easier to just lay in bed and sleep.

However, today, he was restless. 

Undyne’s commentary floated in his skull, her words and his feelings mingling together into wisps of smoke he couldn’t make coherent. 

Sans rolled over, phalanges curled in the sheets. He wondered what Papyrus was up to now. If he was rising tall, shouldering the burdens of kingship without a Judge in an Underground precariously close to succumbing to perpetual darkness. Or if he was breaking under the weight, HoPe splintering like a rotted tree branch. Sans should be resentful. Furious. Wish all the worst upon the brother that did more than abandon him, but sold him to war mongering invaders. But hatred didn’t come easy. It didn’t come at all. Only yearning and regret. Edge was Papyrus’ dark shadow, but he didn’t go out of his way to be unkind. One could even say he was trying to make Sans’ new life here a tolerable one. Sans wasn’t free...but when had Sans’ life ever been his own?

Red shortcut into the room—he knew the sound well—and meandered to the bed, footfalls heavy. Sans sighed and looked up. The other sneered down at him like an unflinchingly perverted goblin. “can i help you?” Sans asked, unwilling to look away.

“yer look pretty enough to eat, sansy. nappin’ the day away, all sweet and helpless.”

“freak,” Sans snarked in response, shoving Red’s skull away as he sat up. “now where’s my food, oh great bringer of lunch?”

Red caught Sans’ phalanges in his hand and inspected slim digits. The other’s bones were duller, stained with the tell-tale cast of a bad smoking habit, “so demanding, yer majesty.”

“food. or go away.”

“tch. someone’s in a pissy mood. fishbitch get under yer skin? heh.” There was a knowing gleam in burning eyelights. “no need to get in a snit. she’s just mad yer got somethin’ she wanted.”

“she wanted to be queen?”

Red scoffed as he hauled Sans out of bed, shameless as Sans was forced to stagger and catch himself against Red’s chest. “not exactly,” he said, looping an arm around Sans and guiding him towards the bedroom door. Sans’ soul skittered. They had always eaten in the bed chambers. Why were they leaving? “calm yer nonexistent tits. i’m feedin’ yer, not leadin’ yer to the hangman’s noose.”

A moment later, they stood in the antechamber, false sunlight pouring through windows onto what was admittedly a rather luxurious room. Bookshelves soared high, covering the walls, and in a cozy reading nook in the corner were chairs large enough for Asgore to lounge. There were no doors in view, but given how a tapestry fell in their wake once they stepped through, Sans surmised they were hidden. Red promptly returned to dragging him along, leading him to a heavy oak table with a rich assortment of goodies on one end. 

Sans had to lift onto his toes to reach, but he grabbed a candy bar and noodle cup and arched his brows at Red. His doppleganger matched his expression as he hopped into a chair. 

“take a seat, sansy.”

Sans pointedly ignored the way Red patted his own lap and complied, joining Red at the table. Everything about this room screamed at him. Memories of Asgore inviting him for tea and Papyrus standing on the backs of chairs to reach books on high shelves. Memories of long nights filling out paperwork, researching politics and history, trying to make the best out of the dusty void the human left when they went on their malicious slaughter. 

“boss left me in charge of feedin’ ya and i felt like sharin’ some of the good stuff i’ve got my hands on recently.”

“how magnanimous of you,” Sans unwrapped one end of the candy bar as Red took a bite of the one he held, foil wrapping and all. “dude. what the hell?”

“what’s the sayin’? waste not.”

“uh-huh. m’not a trash compactor like you, so i’m going to remove the packaging from my food first.” Red simply took another bite of his candy bar in response. “so. no condiments included in your stash?”

“oh, there is,” he licked some chocolate from his teeth. “but i’m not sharin’. not without proper incentive.”

Sans sighed and shook his head, well aware of what Red wanted. And he hated that a part of him was willing to say ‘fuck it’ and throw his hands in the air and just give it to him. He wasn’t exactly sure if he was comfortable enough with Edge to try to—urg—seduce him for favors, but letting Red play voyer would take the opposite of effort on Sans’ part. He didn’t have to do a thing beyond ignoring Red’s presence while Edge had his way with him, and then he would have his wonderful ketchup and all would be a little more tolerable. But a larger part of him recoiled at the prospect in sheer spite. He already struggled to not feel like a whore with a fancy title. Selling his body for comfort food wouldn’t make his shitty esteem any better.

(Then again, could it really get worse?)

“...care to share what’s got undyne in a twist?” He needed a safer subject. One that didn’t make his soul lurch and leave him feeling even smaller than usual.

It was Red’s turn to sigh as he opened up a noodle cup, fished out the dry brick of ramen and began crunching on it, “she wanted his kid. yer got between her and that goal.”

“eh?” Sans blinked, processing that information and failing. “wait, is she and alphys not a thing here?”

“they are. but undyne and him were an ideal match. both guards. powerful. boss monsters. their kids woulda been lil terrors that woulda helped hold down the throne with an iron fist.”

“but...alphys…”

“heh. still caught up in the culture clash, aintcha?”

“excuse me if i’m used to monsters having kids with the ones they love!”

Red’s eyelights sharpened, his smile tightening at the corners, “love means shit if yer and yer family is dead.” His stare burned. “the arrangement woulda been sensible. the fishbitch would have the royal scientist as her side piece and they’d have raised a school of fishy brats. but plans change.”

But where would that have left Red? Sans could see the thinly veiled animosity in the other’s gaze. The dare to delve deeper. “why? why me? if he was arranged to get hitched to undyne, why take a risk and marry some schlub from an alternate universe?” And why Undyne? Red was a powerful monster. He was already sleeping with Edge. Boss monster monarchs historically mated with close relatives, including siblings, even if it was a practice rarely assumed in modern day. Sans didn’t quite know what he was missing and it yelled at him louder than the room itself.

“heh. toldja. to keep karma in the family.”

“bullshit. that isn’t the whole reason.”

Red sneered, “it’s the one yer gonna get, yer highness. now quit yappin’ and finish eating. i got shit to do.”

It wasn’t long before Sans was alone again, the world a little larger, and in a way, that made coping with the silence all the worse.


	3. Bulky

Sans was reading a ratty, water-damaged paperback novel (one of the few science fiction books he could find in the library) when the brothers entered the antechamber together. It’d been a couple days since Red dragged him out of the bedroom for lunch, and Sans was slowly acclimating to the oversized room and its gargantuan furniture. In his peripherals he observed their approach, feigning total absorption in his literary indulgence. 

They walked close, Red’s shoulder brushing Edge’s arm—the latter’s spine slightly bent with weariness, a weakness he allowed himself to show only once the door to the outside world shut behind him. Where the younger skeleton appeared fatigued, mind lost in a static haze that left his gaze distant. The elder was erect and alert, frayed nerves giving him the jittery hyper attentiveness of a half-starved chihuahua, the greyish circles burned under his sockets even darker than usual, his eyelights needle-thin and shaky. As if sensing Sans’ stare, Red’s head snapped up and he took a step forward, a weird crookedness to his smile that left him uneasy, the Judge within him stirring in response, whispering of malicious intent and corruption.

Edge was quicker than a cobra, the arm limp at his side snaking up to Red’s collar in a flash of gleaming black-and-gold armor. How he found a grip so easily Sans didn’t know, when Red was wearing battle ready leathers and a thick, fur-lined, hooked cloak that made him look larger than usual. In fact, the both of them looked ready for war, though perhaps more from the general’s table than the frontlines, as their attire seemed rather bulky and ill suited for a monster like Red, who no doubt relied on agility more than most.

Closing his book, Sans slowly slid from the chair and backed towards the bedroom, the air in the antechamber suddenly cooler and humming with LV charged magic. Edge gave Sans a small, discreet nod as he pulled on Red’s collar, eliciting an audible choking noise from the other. Despite him literally being strangled, Red didn’t fight Edge off, he merely kept grinning like a maniac, silently daring Sans to say a word. To do something. Anything. Other than walk away like a good little pet. This was none of Sans’ business. It was a brotherly affair. Edge began tugging Red towards one of the tapestries (one that concealed the entrance to Red’s chambers), and that was when Red kicked up a riot. Still staring at Sans, he clawed at Edge’s armor covered arm, twisted and writhed like a practiced escape artist, and lastly, he even dared to chomp on the other’s hand when Edge tried to wrangle him with it. 

“SANS!” Edge growled. “WHAT HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU?”

“do it!” Red hissed in response. “do it yer bastard.”

“NO.”

“then lemme go.”

“NO.”

“uh, should i ask what’s going on?” Sans asked, cursing his stupid mouth once the words slipped out. He should have just gone to bed. Let them sort this out. “because fido there looks like he wants to tear my throat out with his teeth.”

“oh sweetheart, i wanna do more than tha’ wit my teeth. hrk!” Red clutched at the hand now lifting him off the floor by the collar, effectively disabling him from doing anything other than scrabbling uselessly at said hand. 

“It is nothing to be concerned over, Sans. My brother gets in these...moods. It would be best if you let me handle this and not get involved.” Not an order, but a strong suggestion. Sans decided it was best to take the opportunity to retreat. And retreat he did. He stumbled backward into the bedroom and sat on the edge of bed, eyelights fixed on the door. There were a series of muffled thumps and the sound of voices, but all too soon, all was quiet. 

It was hours later when Edge returned, attempting to creep in like a cat in the night, clearly not expecting Sans to be awake and waiting for him. 

“Why are you not asleep?” he queried.

Sans shrugged, “not tired.”

“Liar.”

Sans tried again, “...i wanted to know you were okay?”

Edge sighed, pinching his nasal bone, “My brother is no threat to my safety. Worst he does is an excessive amount of biting when he’s...stressed.”

“heh. tiba honest, i half wasn’t expectin’ ya to come to bed at all. red—er, sans—seemed like he might have needed some, heh, tlc.” His husband didn’t deny it, but there were the soft hints of surprise on his features, eyesockets widening a margin, the corners of his mouth twitching. Huh. Red for all his talk must have not blabbed about Sans knowing certain finer details about the not-so-brotherly aspects of their relationship. Not that either of them promised fidelity. Though Sans assumed that if he was caught in bed by Edge with anyone but Red, well, there would be consequences. When the silence lingered, Sans masked his discomfort by stretching languidly, “anyway, need help with your armor?”

It had become something of a habit to help Edge out of it before bed. The fact that he was still wearing it was a little surprising. Either he put it back on after his encounter with Red, or they didn’t do what Sans suspected would happen. Hell. Maybe Edge just choked Red unconscious and stood over him like a gargoyle for a few hours! 

Edge didn’t offer any elaboration, choosing instead to let the subject shift, approaching Sans stiffly. With a yawn, Sans took Edge’s hand in his own and began their new normal routine. Each piece of armor fell away with more ease than previous attempts and it wasn’t long before Edge stood before him, all narrow angles and chipped bones. Despite the name he shared with his brother, with each passing day, the resemblance blurred. It became easier and easier to see Edge and Papyrus as separate people, wholly unconnected, though there were stark and starling moments where the resemblance was too uncanny to ignore. He hated those moments. He wished for a certain willful ignorance to make these long days easier to endure.

“whelp, anythin’ else, m’lord?” Sans quipped, trying to keep the mood light before he tanked it with his increasingly shadowy thoughts.

“You could draw your lord husband a bath,” Edge replied.

“huh. i wasn’t expecting you to take me up on the offer.”

Edge let out a slow breath, “Nevermind. Go to sleep, Sans. I will come to bed when I am done.”

_You don’t have a lot of choices, Sansy. You can be miserable. You can fight the good fight until Edge is forced to use the Deltarune on you. Or you can try to make the best of this whole marriage thing._

Going to sleep was the logical option, but it wasn’t a command and the compulsion to obey slipped easily as Edge wandered into the bathroom. Sans muttered a soft curse at the gods if they existed and followed his husband, catching him bareboned as he filled the tub. Edge jolted when Sans joined him at the side of said tub, but neither said a word. Not until Sans tested the water, “dude, you really that hot and bothered?”

“WHAT?” There was the faintest hint of pink dusting Edge’s skull.

“the water. i know we’re skeletons and the cold goes right through us, but i’m pretty sure if you wanna relax, you need, y’know, warm water.” Sans adjusted the knobs and rocked on his heels, “want any of that fancy bubble bath?”

“NO! WHAT BUBBLEBATH? THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE KING PAPYRUS DOES NOT USE BUBBLE BATH!”

“mhm. so you’re tellin’ me the bottle marked ‘contaminate this for one of your loathsome pranks, sans, and i will feed your dust to our enemies’ belongs to your brother, eh?” He snickered. “it’s fine, buddy, lavender scented stuff is supposed to be good for sleep.”

“...I have heard such things as well, yes.”

“since i seem to be having such a hard time sleeping tonight, maybe we should add some to the bath. to help.”

“But this is my—oh.”

Oh was right. Sans. Initiating. What was the world coming to? Maybe he was just a little broken. Desperate for intimacy in the only way he could get it from the one person he was willing to receive it from at the moment. It was possible he was just humiliating himself. That he should have stayed in bed and Edge would have let his hands roam in the dark, stroked his bones and laved his neck with kisses until their souls were ready to join. They were trying for a babybones. Regular intercourse was the only way to secure an heir. It was a duty, an expectation, one that Sans didn’t need to prompt...and hadn’t yet turned away. 

He thought back to their not-too-long-ago wedding night when Edge let the tiniest fraction of mercy show—bidding Sans to command him to leave or to invite him to stay. There were worse fates than bedding someone you didn’t love and Edge had managed to make them both comfortable enough to merge souls willingly. And had repeated such since, prioritizing pleasure above all else when they joined in the dark.

“You do not have to do this,” Edge murmured as Sans retrieved the liquid and poured a cap full under the faucet. Suds instantly formed and filled the air with a crisp scent. Like clean laundry. Sans hadn’t bathed with another monster since Paps was a toddler and the prospect left his hands shaky as he screwed the cap back on.

“make us a bath? i need a good soak.”

“Sans…”

“think that is enough water? if there is too much it will just slosh all over the floor.”

A hand fell to Sans’ cheekbone, tilting his skull up, “This isn’t required of you.”

Required. Obligated. Sworn. Promised. He really, really hated those words as of late. Bound by the Deltarune and its oath, by marriage and through a treaty for peace, he belonged to Edge thrice over. He had so very little agency left. All he could do was make choices within the capacity of his vows, as limited as they might be, and this was one such choice. To initiate. To forge intimacy with his sovereign and husband in hopes that it would get easier in time. In hopes that trading his body and soul would earn him some unspoken, undetermined reward. Be that trust or comfort or perhaps even a degree of freedom. But there was only so far Sans could—and would—traverse in his blind quest of his, and if Edge didn’t want him (why would he want him?) then so be it. He would go to bed and they could continue as before, the status quo left unchanged.

“could try saying ‘thanks for making an effort’, edgelord.” Sans turned off the water and made to leave, but was halted by Edge grabbing his arm. “i was under the impression i’m not welcome right now.”

“I...would not be opposed to you staying. Pardon but this is...unfamiliar territory for me.”

“dunno if i feel like it anymore.”

“Contrary. I have no idea why I expected anything less,” Edge grumbled before tugging Sans to him. He hesitated then leaned down, brushing their teeth together. A kiss. Their usual precursor to sex. It shouldn’t warm Sans as much as it did, or make his magic stir and spark with interest. The jitter of arousal skittering up his spine made him shudder. “Stay?”

Stay.

Stay.

Stay.

“sure.”

Edge peeled away Sans’ clothes cautiously, as if he would change his mind at any moment. Gentle. His hands were so gentle. They both knew the destruction said hands could wreak. How easily he could push Sans to the floor, take him, break him, render him dust. Sans was ultimately at his mercy—his to use and abuse by right of the throne. Yet since their wedding night, Edge hadn’t called him Judge nor held the treaty above Sans’ head. Perhaps, Sans conceded, the trust forged in intimacy wasn’t one-sided. In that Sans trusted those dangerous hands not to crush his throat, and Edge trusted Sans to be true to his vow. 

(Between them, who was the greater fool?)

Once Sans was bareboned, Edge stepped into the tub, legs splayed such that Sans easily eased between them, spine-to-sternum.

“So warm,” Edge murmured as he traced Sans’ shoulder blades with a single phalange before catching the collar in his hand. He slipped his fingers beneath it, touch featherlight. “So fragile.” Sans was complacent, unresisting as his husband mapped sensitive bones, as if his body was some foreign land and Edge was a future conqueror on an expedition. Slowly, Sans inched a hand to Edge’s patella, letting his palm rest there before skimming higher, creeping close to the juncture where the femur met the pelvis. This earned a murmur of approval. 

_You’re whoring yourself for attention now? Look how low you’ve fallen._

Before the thought could sink its teeth in his psyche, Edge began to kiss his neck, nipping as he was wont to do, evidently enjoying leaving marks on Sans’ easily bruised bones. 

“I want you,” Edge breathed, as if it weren’t already obvious.

“eheh, you have me? that was sorta the whole point of this whole...joining you in the bath thing.”

“You’re seducing me?”

“uh, depends, it working?”

“Very much.”

“o-oh. then call me the master of _suds_ -uction.”

Edge stiffened and slapped a hand to his face, “REALLY? HORRIBLE PUNS RIGHT NOW?”

“ _water_ you talking about? they’re not horri- _bubble_. they’re good, _clean_ fun.”

Sans sputtered as Edge lifted him up and spun him around so that they were chest-to-chest. Brimstone and hellfire eyelights burned bright as the dark skeleton pulled Sans into another kiss, hands returning to their prior quest with more certainty than before.

It was only when the next morning arrived, when Sans woke in the now familiar embrace of his husband, that he realized they never actually got to the soul merging. They touched and explored in the warm water until it cooled, shuddering and sighing, bodies entangled...before moving to the bed where Edge was more intense, rough one might even say, the stresses of the day turning into commanding hands and teeth on bone. When it was over, in a sleepy, satiated haze, they reveled in each other’s Glow and fell asleep.

No heirs attempted that night.


	4. Radio

After the night in the bath, Edge’s behavior shifted just so very slightly. It started with skimming Sans’ bones with his hands the morning after, as if the other would turn to smoke and slip between his fingers. And turned into other little gestures over the next few days, including discreetly leaving Sans with tokens of his questionable affection. A new pair of socks appeared in his personal dresser drawer. A bottle of lavender scented bone wash assumed a spot on Sans’ unspoken ‘side’ of the sink. And a radio materialized in the nook of the antechamber Sans had taken to reading in during the day.

Messing with the knobs and buttons rewarded Sans with three stations. One with music by Mettaton. One playing radio dramas by Mettaton. And the last played the daily news...by Mettaton.

_The kid really didn’t go on a killing spree here._

But how, Sans wondered, did Edge end up king? Did no one else want the throne, or did this have to do with whatever ‘deal’ the brothers made with the kid? Magic welled up in his sockets against his will. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Anger and resentment and despair all decided to choke him, leave him breathless and ragged and aching. All while MTTs violent version of a love song rang out, loud and damning. 

That evening, Edge found Sans on the floor, the radio scattered in pieces, taken apart meticulously despite the skeleton’s ire. In one hand he held a bone shard, the end shaped to act as a makeshift screwdriver, and in the other was a mess of machine guts.

“sup?” 

“Enjoying yourself?”

“yep.”

“Your control over your magic is very...precise. Most monsters cannot shape and maintain their bullets in such a manner.”

“what can i say, i’m a practical monster.”

“I would argue that you are a powerful one.”

“flattery gets you everywhere, bud.”

“Oh?”

The mischief gleaming in Sans’ eyelights makes Edge’s sockets narrow. The smaller skeleton leaned back and laid a hand over his sternum, “oh daddy, tell me how big and strong i am again. it’s so hoooot.”

Edge sputtered and ran a hand over his face, “Never say that again. For the sake of my nonexistent ears. Never. Again.”

Sans snickered as he dismissed the construct in his hand,”fine, fine. no more.”

“Ahem, would you, ah, appreciate more electronics to dismember or did that radio in particular offend you?”

“oh, uh...i was planning on putting it back together. but if more electronics happen to be left behind in here...i may be inclined to take them apart. for science, of course.”

“Of course. Never for fun.”

“nope. never.”

“i will keep this in mind.” 

“...dinner?”

Edge lifted his chin in agreement.


	5. Blade

It is only when Sans has the knife in hand that he realizes that Red was serious when he said that if Edge told him to shut up and shank someone, that Sans was best off obeying without question. Learning how to gut a guy like a fish wasn’t exactly how he expected to spend his afternoon, but here they were. He adjusted his grip as Red instructed, phalanges flexing in response to the unfamiliar weight. It was heavier than it looked. Sturdy. With an unadorned handle and nondescript blade. 

“i could stab you,” Sans ventured, waving the point towards Red’s sternum. The other laughed and then like lightning, knocked the knife from Sans’ hand and yanked him close, his grip bruising. Sharkish teeth skimmed the fading bite marks on his cervical vertebra, just above the collar Edge insisted remained always in sight. 

“you’d only try it once, sweetheart,” he murmured, all deadly sweetness like belladonna.

“suppose you’re right. one of us would be dust dependin’ on if i succeeded or not.”

“awe, cute how yer think dustin’ me is possible,” Red teased. “naw, you’d give it a good ol’ college try and after i wuz done punishin’ yer fer bein’ spectacularly stupid, i’d drag yer to boss and yer prolly wouldn’t remember nothin’ ‘bout nobody after he wuz done wit using the rune to safeguard anythin’ like dat from happenin’ again.”

Sans’ once pleasant mood skittered away. Oh. Right. He shoved at Red until the other released him, “m’tired. think i’ll turn in for a nap.”

Red cocked his head to the side and idled between Sans and his escape, “nah. i think we need a little chit chat.”

“dude, buddy, pal, just piss off. m’not in the mood.”

“ooh-hoo! hello sparky, where yer been? gettin’ railed every night’s kept yer all soft and cuddly, eh?”

The heat that flooded his face was to be expected. Red was a nosy pervert, but usually he had an ounce more tact than this! Magic hummed in the air, ready but unformed, responding to its master’s emotions. He didn’t have much pride to start, but what little of it existed recoiled at Red’s brash words, unable to be shrugged off. Shame quickly overtook anger. Quashing the heat with a suffocating cold. It all mingled in an instant and left behind a mire of smoke. Sans’ shoulders dropped and he sighed, “whaddya want? i haven’t tried to escape or done anythin’ to upset your brother. i’ve been a good little hostage.”

“yer not a hostage, sansy.”

“right, right. i’m prince consort to my brother’s evil twin from an alternate dimension. my princely duties are ‘stay out of trouble’ and ‘have a baby’ or else lose all bodily and mental agency. thanks for the reminder, it was nifty. i’d almost deluded myself into thinking otherwise.” Sans gave a bitter laugh. “don’t worry, i won’t repeat this to your brother and upset him.”

“see, this is why we need a chat. you and me? we’re cut from the same cloth. got the same hiccup and hitch in our heads and like throwin’ wrenches in works when things go too good fer us.” The image of Red kicking and shouting at Edge rose to mind, him provoking a fight for seemingly no reason, a rubber band pulled so tight it snapped. He blinked and Red was in his personal space once more, breath on bone, his stare one of stark familiarity. “lookin’ at yer right now, i can’t trust ya to defend yerself.”

“heh, but you ‘trust’ me not to stab you or your brother?”

“...yeah,” Red took a step forward and swept up the knife from the floor, forcing Sans to inch back. He held it out, and Sans hesitantly complied with the unspoken demand, closing his phalanges around the offered pommel. “this is yer home and yer life now. it’s up to yer to figure out if yer wanna be happy or keep thinkin’ of yerself as a prisoner of war.”

“encouraging stockholm syndrome are ya doc?”

Red twitched at that, as if short-circuiting. Huh. Weird.

“i’m encouraging yer to shut yer trap and show me yer aint a useless noodle,” he smacked his own chest. “come at me, level bait.”

Edge arrived that evening to find Sans unconconscious at the table, sleeping with a half-eaten meal beside him to one side, and a sheathed knife at his opposite elbow. Red napped across from him, but cracked open a socket at Edge’s arrival, his toothy grin quirking up at the corners. He lifted a hand lazily and wriggled his fingers, flaunting the bandages wrapped around his palm. Interesting.

The self-defense lesson must have gone well.


	6. Rodent

“I disposed of a rat.”

That was the only explanation Edge gave when he returned to their bedchamber in the wee hours of the morning, startling Sans awake when he stormed through the door without stealth or care. The Judge knew in an instant what had happened. It whispered and condemned, settling molten hot in Sans’ bones, reminding him of this monster’s many sins. Hellfire eyelights met Sans’ own, no doubt blown out and distant with his ever present burden. The room was colder than Snowdin during a blizzard, Edge’s aura whipped into a frenzy, a warning to all that was an apex predator on the prowl. 

Sans watched, mute, as Edge stalked through the darkness into the bathroom, slamming the door shut before flicking on the lights. Like a marionnet in the hands of an unkind puppeteer, Sans slid out of bed and followed, cracking open the door. Illuminated as if by the light of the Judgement Hall itself, stood Edge in the middle of the bathroom, his movements jerky and sharp as he wrenched off his cloak and armor. Dust clung to him—desaturating what little color his attire once bore—the grim remains as grey as the ashes of a burnt out fire. Sensing Sans’ presence, his instincts on high alert, Edge spun, his form tight with warning.

“I do not need to hear your condemnation, _Judge_.”

He spoke with the same bitterness and spite as he did before their nuptials. Here stood the warlord where Sans had grown accustomed to seeing the king. 

“It is advised that you leave me be and return to bed,” Edge continued, tossing stained gloves to the floor. “I will not be sleeping tonight.” When Sans lingered, Edge’s aura flared again with menace, “I SAID—”

“heard ya the first time, m’lord,” Sans interjected before an order slipped past the other’s teeth. “do...you have need of my assistance?” 

“...No.”

He swallowed, “do you _want_ my assistance?”

Edge had already stripped his torso bare, but paused at his belt, eyelights narrowing down to feline slits, the barely there glow jittering the same way Red’s did on the day he attacked his brother in the antechamber, “Do not play games with me, Judge. You will not enjoy the results.”

 _Judge._ It was a snide, bitter word carried on his tongue.

“what will ya do? dust me?” 

_i can’t trust ya to defend yerself._ Red’s voice echoed in Sans’ skull like a mantra. Their training sessions in hand-to-hand combat and knife fighting had continued after that day. Each time, Red assaulted him with verbal barbs that wounded more deeply than any dagger could pierce. _there’s sparky! come and get yer revenge, level bait._ Maybe he was still running a little over sensitive after Red’s provocation. Or maybe Edge’s untempered LV was setting off a switch in his head. But he didn’t cower his way back to bed. Either Edge would lash out or he wouldn’t. (Why was he testing him? It was so stupid to push and push with nothing to gain but suffering.)

Sans held Edge’s glare, impassive as the other yanked off his belt and slung it into the pile of metal and fabric with a clatter and clang. “There are worse things,” Edge gritted out. “Or do you think me incapable?”

_”Paint me the villain.”_

“do it then.”

Edge growled and went back to stripping, as if his clothes had personally offended him. When Sans inched a little further into the bathroom, a single blue bone jutted out of the floor between them, a vibrant stop sign if he’d ever seen one. He turned on the shower, “There is nothing for you to gain here.” Yet no order came for Sans to leave.

“...what if i want a shower too?” The offer was a flat one, a rhetorical contrast to when they shared a bath. Sans had no plans of getting much closer to Edge as he was right now.

However, what Edge said next struck harder than a slap.

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight. Go to bed. Now.”

Right...because that was all he was worth. His only purpose. Sans slipped out of the bathroom and climbed into the bed, the Deltarune burning with the intensity of the command. He was the Judge, as Edge so eloquently reminded him, and a Judge didn’t disobey a direct order from his King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still some...bumps in the road.


	7. Fancy

Edge didn’t come to bed that night. Or the night after. Sans actually didn’t see a single glimpse of the skeleton after their spat. Even more disconcerting was the fact that Red showed up to bring meals, acting no different than before, no mention of Edge on his nonexistent lips. Well, he did until he didn’t. It was when a servant quietly arrived with breakfast that Sans’ proverbial guts dropped and sweat broke out across his skull. Was this really how it ended? One argument and game over? Nerves kept him jittery and restless when he went to bed that night, straining to hear any sign of life, of Edge and Red returning. Eventually, early in the morning, he abandoned the pretense and wandered into the antechamber, aware that nothing but nightmares would plague him even if he did fall unconscious.

As he reached for the familiar comfort of his abysmal sci fi novel collection, something caught his eye—the glossy spine of an astronomy textbook. It wasn’t there yesterday. Sans slipped it off the shelf. The cover was intact, and while the corners were a little bent, the pages within were pristine, lacking the usual water damage of books retrieved from the dump. He checked it over and the shelf as well for a rhyme or reason for it to be there, and who put it on what he was starting to think of as ‘his shelf’. But there were no hints beyond the book’s presence itself. 

Was this a gift like the radio?

With reluctance he puzzled over why his own Papyrus might secret a book Sans would like into a discreetly obvious location. “is this supposed to be an apology?” His mind trailed to the trashy soaps Mettaton put on the radio, of an abusive prick of a partner showering their significant other with gifts to make up for lashing out. Except, unlike in the radio drama, there would be no battered monster dusting their bonded in an explosive revenge fantasy. Sans swallowed and dropped the book, abandoning it on the floor. He was too tired for this. Nightmares be damned, he’d try sleeping again and hope tomorrow made more sense.

Except, the next day offered no reprieve. Not when Edge clouded the waters more with a small television. It didn’t function, but it was a tempting target for restless hands sitting beside the radio. Too tempting. Sans disassembled it and the radio. Maybe he’d make something later. He settled for putting them back together again instead of eating dinner. He wasn’t really hungry.

The next ‘gift’ was nothing like the other two. When Sans went to change clothes, the mostly borrowed attire from Red was replaced. New shirts—some plain, others bearing graphics—hung beside a powder blue leather jacket with white fur trim. It made his old hoodie look utterly threadbare in comparison. Speaking of...where...where was his hoodie? It was one of the few things he had left from his world. Sure, one of the pockets was tearing off and there were ketchup stains on the front, but it was his and not only that, but Papyrus gave it to him. He dug through the closet, strewing everything out onto the floor, before upending all the drawers. Where? Where? Where? 

He startled the maid when he scrambled out into the antechamber in the same rumpled shorts and shirt he wore the previous day, eyesockets void of their usual lights. “where is it?” he demanded. 

“W-what?” the bunny monster stammered.

“my hoodie. it’s not in my room or in the laundry. where is it?”

“Sir, I don’t know of any hoodie,” she replied.

Sans staggered back with a soft apology, “nevermind. you can take breakfast away. m’not eating.”

“I...yes your majesty.”

The hoodie reappeared the next day in the closet with a note to cease skipping meals in Edge’s, bold, sharp handwriting. Checking it over, he found the familiar stains gone, and the rips mended. 

That night, he saw Edge for the first time in about a week, bent with fatigue and his HP low. His eyelights met Sans’ from the doorway of the bedroom, and he swallowed, no amount of pride masking his uncertainty from the Judge’s keen gaze. This was a man fresh from the fight, yet his LV and EXP remained stubbornly as they were before he vanished. 

“I know that look,” Edge murmured. “What is the verdict?”

“...you need a bath.”

A choked laugh escaped from the tall skeleton, as if Sans had just uttered complete absurdity, “I cannot deny that.” He hesitated, faltering on what to say next, his mouth opening then shutting again before he settled on averting his gaze and striding to the bathroom. Before he closed the door behind him he looked back at Sans, quiet with foreign uncertainty, “I...would not protest assistance with my armor this evening. That is, if you wish to do so. I understand why you may not be inclined after what...occurred recently. What I said was inexcusable. I will not beg your forgiveness, as it is not my place to assume you will forgive my actions.”

“...bud, that was a lot of words to say sorry for being a dick.” When Edge pulled a face, Sans snorted and slipped out of bed, socked feet padding softly across the stone floor. “but you’re right. i haven’t forgiven you, but...tibia-honest, i’m a little lazy for grudges.” 

“Then I will strive to earn your forgiveness.”

“more bribery?”

“Gifts. They are gifts. Not bribes. One is to provide ample gifts to one's partner when seeking to make amends.”

“let me guess, you read it in the dating manual?”

“Of course not! I read it in the marriage handbook,” Edge puffed a bit then gave Sans a considering look. “What are your opinions of jewels?”

“they’re sparkly?”

“I see.”

“if you’re tryin’ to bribe me, ketchup will get ya further than gemstones.”

“URG. I WILL NOT PARTAKE IN ENCOURAGING YOUR CONDIMENT DRINKING HABIT! IT IS DREADFULLY UNHEALTHY!” Edge shuddered and absently laid a hand between Sans’ shoulders, guiding him into the bathroom. “But...I suppose one of those burgers from that grease pit my brother keeps patronizing would be...acceptable. Would you like one for dinner tomorrow?”

“i...yeah. yeah i would. with fries and extra ketchup on ‘em.”

Edge’s skull colored a rather faint hue of green at the notion, “I will take your preference on the matter into consideration.”

“hey, you’re the one trying to bribe me.” At Edge’s long suffering sigh, Sans began to unfasten his armor, noting the blood and the dust caked onto the metal and leather. It was obvious someone tried to clean the worst of it off, but missed some parts or gave up on scrubbing where it became too stuck on. “can i ask where you’ve been this week?”

“I have been securing resources and dealing with other administrative tasks.”

_He was universe hopping. Like he and Red had been doing when they stumbled upon Sans’ timeline and found it defenceless._

“sounds exhausting. ya makin’ this lazybones tired just thinkin’ about it.”

His armor was halfway off, left in a pile on the floor. Sans was getting good at this. How strange. When the last of it was off, Sans reached for Edge’s clothes, they were stained and damp from what was likely days spent living in them, and given no reprieve. Edge stilled his hands, “You can go now.”

“...if ya want this whole marriage schtick to work...and be, y’know...a marriage...ya gotta let me make my own bad decisions sometimes,” Sans murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. “not tell me what i do and don’t wanna do. got it, edgelord?”

“There are...times...when it would be most wise for you to not touch me or be in my presence, Sans.” Like when he was riding high on lv from dusting a monster. When he came home as a conqueror and not a husband. Sans was defenseless in those moments if Edge wished to hurt him. To kill him, even. 

“is now one of those times?”

“...No…”

It wasn’t forgiveness or love or any kind of devotion that Sans acted upon as he turned on the tub. He wasn’t blinded by any romantic notions of changing this monster. The power imbalance was stark and hard to maneuver, and their cultural differences only widened the divide. But of the choices he had before him, Sans knew there was only one that would feasibly leave them both whole at the end instead of in despair and disrepair. 

He chose duty. 

Maybe play acting through the dance that was their marriage, they would figure out the finer details and find a certain peace. Sans wasn’t good at stubbornness or fighting. He wasn’t good at forgiveness or spite. But he was good at adapting. 

“the water’s warm.”

“Would you like your bone wash?”

“sure. it should be under the sink with yours.”

There were no kisses offered. Hands didn’t wander. Their time in the bath was practically platonic and all the more intimate for it. At least before Sans could reason that he was seducing Edge’s favor or something. This time the only excuse he had was he was...tired and lonely. It felt nice to have his bones washed, though when he tried to reciprocate, Edge effortlessly diverted his attentions away. Sans didn’t realize he fell asleep until he woke up that morning before dawn, Edge’s arm wrapped tight around his hips.


	8. Teeth

“awe, how cute, yer and sansy made up.”

“FOR FUCKS SAKE SANS, MUST YOU LURK IN THE SHADOWS LIKE A GREMLIN?”

Sans, to his credit, didn’t immediately roll out of bed in utter shock at this rude wake up call. Likely because Edge still had an arm wrapped around him. Red cackled in the manner brothers do when they get embarrassing vengeance upon a sibling before strolling out the door.

“here i am, being all nice and shit, wakin’ yer up fer yer meetings cuz yer overslept…”

“WHAT!”

Red made a flippant gesture as he vanished from sight and Edge scrambled from bed. One look at his phone had him dressing and out of the room in a matter of minutes. Well then. Sans would just...get up. Get the day started and all that. Maybe splash some cold water on his face.

“sansy and bossy screwin’ in a tree, s c r e w i n g—”

“what are you thirteen?”

“wuzza matter? all embarrassed cuz i caught yer all snuggled up this mornin’?”

“i have no idea why you’re making a scene about it,” Sans glowered at Red, unable to focus on their self-defence lesson, because Red kept making crude commentary. “we’re married. you know we’re trying for a kid. you even read me the riot act before the wedding.” He lunged at Red with the naked dagger, unsurprised when the other batted it to the side with the back of his hand. Sans eyed Red’s face. His own face if he grew up in an LV soaked hellverse. The Judge whispered. It warned. Corrupted. Tainted karma. “are you jealous or somethin’?”

There was no tell beyond the subtle narrowing of Red’s eyelights, his smile unchanged, his posture as devil-may-care as before, “naw. yer should know we aint jealous when it comes to yer.”

“mhm. and what if i’ve decided i’m the jealous type?”

“scuse me?”

Sans snickered, “surprised some manners into ya did i? but like i said, what if i decided that i didn’t like sharing. that he’s mine and that i’d give’em everythin’ he wants if he vows fidelity?”

Red’s reaction was as expected. The corners of his mouth tightening, his teeth looking sharper as he cocked his head to the side, “yer might be able to give him everythin’ he thinks he wants, sansy, but not everythin’ he needs.”

“so certain?”

The other got into Sans’ personal space, easily wrestling the knife free, sending it clattering to the ground. He didn’t let go. His grip remained steel around Sans’ wrist, his breath warm against Sans’ skull. “yer such a soft, sweet thing, even when yer all sparky and shit. all talk and no muscle.” He skimmed his thumb along the inside of Sans’ wrist, contemplative...purposeful. 

“if ya haven’t noticed, we’re both bone bags propped up with bad jokes and no small amount of cosmic irony.” Sans felt some heat rise to his face. He blamed it on annoyance. Frustration. It totally wasn’t the other kind of frustration where his magic got all warm because Red’s touches were stupidly innocent and nice and urg! Yep. Nope. Fuck that noise. Sans tried to shake his hand free, to put some space between them, but Red held firm. “bud, not sure if ya noticed, but that’s mine. if ya need me to ‘lend a hand’ i’d rather keep it firmly attached to my body.”

“oh, i could use a hand if yer offerin’~” he purred, his voice suddenly low and deep and suggestive. His thumb kept moving. Gentle circles. “hmmm. y’know, boss has been wantin’ to see yer progress. wouldn’t it be...interestin’ if he walked in right now?”

“eh?” Red took a step further into Sans’ space, forcing him to walk back until his spine hit a chair. One of the oversized, stuffed ones that were practically a loveseat to monsters like Sans and Red. “h-hey, we were just talking about—”

“yer being jealous and blah, blah, blah. he’s the best monster out there,” he said with the same conviction Sans did when talking about Papyrus. Except the possession in Red’s voice was smoky and dark, like he’d murder anyone who hurt his little brother...literally. “i get why yer might want ‘im all to yerself. but fer yer health and his...don’t.”

Sans stared at Red. And Red stared back. It was a long, queer moment of two judges—two Sanses—trying to broach an understanding. Except Red’s world was so foreign to his in so many ways. It was as if he was speaking a language that Sans only half understood, and all the slang and metaphors were utterly lost in translation. 

“i...red...i don’t get it. i don’t get you and him.”

“yer not that dense, dollface, yer know full well we’re—”

“yeah, yeah. i know you do unspeakable, naughty things with your brother—”

“so do yer.”

“dude! not the point.”

“what’s there to get?” Red shrugged and caught Sans’ other arm, casually pinning Sans to the chair. Sans could protest. He could kick up a fuss or spit in his face. Instead his stupid, annoying magic—which wasn’t allowed an opinion!—skittered like static down his spine. His breath caught. Red smelled of leather and smoke and mustard and something familiar that reminded him of Edge. “this is a kill or be killed world, sansy. you keep your friends close, your enemies closer and your family at your back. because when it all goes to hell, they may be the only one to drag you from the abyss. lv does weird shit to the soul and mind, sweetheart, and yer found that one out the hard way. yer welcome, by the way.”

“what?”

“if it wuzn’t fer me, yer and boss probably wouldn’t be all cozied up. yer a real tempting little snack, and he had enough restraint to get me before he got yer.” The image of Red and his manic, predator smile, came to mind. How Edge vanished for hours to settle the other’s ‘mood’. Again rose the memory of the warlord, using the Rune on Sans, his language bitter and harsh, both order and warning. His thoughts scattered when Red skimmed his teeth on Sans’ neck, as he was prone to doing, tracing where Edge was so fond of leaving the impressions of his own fangs. “heh. your soul is racing.”

“a natural reaction to the possibility of having your spine bitten in half.”

“hm. kinky.”

“dude.”

Sans choked as Red lapped his neck. It’d been a while since the other had gone this far with his sexual harassment. But there was something different about this time. It didn’t feel like Red was trying to unnerve Sans, to make him uncomfortable and unbalanced and angry. Rather, like a natural progression considering how their bodies were pressed together, their clothes a scant barrier. No tugs at his shirt or shorts came, but he did release one of Sans’ wrists to pull on Sans’ collar, shifting it to the side so that he had better access to the bone sheltered by the strap of leather. Sweat beaded on Sans’ skull. He should kick Red. Push him away. But…

Angel above this felt nice.

“that’s it sansy, relax a lil fer me. aint gonna hurt yer more than yer can handle.” With that ominous phrase whispered against his acoustic meatus, Red took his first nip. Sans twitched, free hand lifting to Red’s skull. Another nip, this one firmer, sharper, stinging with just enough pain to make him hiss. Sans floundered to ground himself and found purchase on Red’s coat, phalanges curled in worn leather. As Red continued to attack his neck, Sans’ eyesockets fluttered shut and he leaned his skull forward, burning his face in the fluff of Red’s hood. “that’s it. hm. what’cha say to a lil reciprocation? put those teeth on me, eh?”

Another bite, this one at the juncture of his cervical vertebrae and his collarbone, made his breath hitch again, and his mouth fall open. How would it feel to rest his teeth on bone and bite down? To leave the imprint of his teeth amongst the cracks and scars Red already wore? 

“boss would approve...wouldn’t yer?”

Sans froze, whole body going stiff as his sockets flew back open. All he saw was the yellow fur of Red’s hood...until the other shifted a bit. There, leaning against the table with casual interest gleaming in his eyelights, was Edge. Their gazes met over Red’s shoulder.

“relax. he don’t mind none. why would he? yer all nice and riled for ‘im, aintcha?”

He would stubbornly deny, until the day he dusted, the burn of arousal that settled in his pelvis when Red spoke. Angel above, he was too sober for this. Maybe after downing some of that wood polish like he drank on his wedding night, he wouldn’t feel absolutely mortified at this situation. At the fact that he was caught being manhandled by Red after vehemently denying he’d ever take interest in the guy...and that being caught...being watched by Edge like this...was doing more for certain kinds of _lubrication_ than he liked to admit. 

“dust me now,” Sans groaned under his breath, and of course, Red snickered. 

“naw...why’d i do that when we wuz just gettin’ to the fun part?” He gave Sans’ collar a little tug and had the audacity to press their smiles together. It was a quick and dirty kiss, all tongue and heat and promise. As he pulled back he whispered, just loud enough for Sans alone to hear, “i heard yer asked fer ketchup from the boss. yer know i can make it happen~ that way yer can wash down yer burg and fries with a nice. cold. bottle of the good stuff. whaddya say? yer know the deal...i’ll be hands off...but i can touch if yer ask fer it real sweet. ever been with two monsters ‘fore, sansy? naw, yer haven’t have yer?”

“shut up.”

“oooh?”

“is this...this supposed to be some kind of weird dirty talk?”

“yer dig it,” his thighbone wedged itself against Sans’ pelvis. “so? it’s yer call, pal.”

Sans pushed at Red’s chest and immediately, the other released his hold, letting Sans catch his breath. Edge moved away from the table, his back to them, his stride slow. Sans couldn’t help but stagger his way, following him into their bedroom, uncaring if Red lurked or not.

“uh, hey, you’re back...er...sooner than expected?”

“I have been informed that ‘taking breaks’ is important for my health and well-being. My own Captain of the Guard and Royal Scientist have barred me from work until the morning.”

Sans blinked, “how the hell they manage that?”

“My brother isn’t the only one with a proclivity to tamper with my things to make a point. I would like to avoid the tranquilizers this time.” Edge unclasped his cape and draped it neatly over the back of a chair. “There something you need, Sans?” His confusion must have been evident because he continued, “My brother and you seemed rather...occupied with one another.”

“sorry!”

Edge snorted, “I did say it was inevitable. And that you would find no jealousy on my part. It is of no concern to me if you bed him.”

“i...i shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?”

“...want to…”

His husband turned and closed the distance between them in a single step, his long legs devouring the space with impressive grace. A gloved hand came to rest on Sans’ mandible and he ever so gently tilted Sans’ skull, the bitemarks fresh and gleaming with agitated magic. Edge slowly dipped his head and kissed one of those bites, before pulling away.

As ashamed as he was to admit it, Red did get him riled and Edge’s little, innocently suggestive kiss just tipped him over the edge. He wanted. And he wanted now. Fuck everything else. Fuck the world. Fuck the fucked up fuckery that landed him in this fucking place. Sans dragged Edge down into a proper smooch and led him to bed.


	9. Hope

Sans never had a lot of HoPe. He never quite figured out if he was fundamentally broken, or if the Judge carved out a hollow for itself in his Soul at the cost of Sans’ stats, a debatably symbiotic parasite of sorts. Monsters with higher HP than him Fell Down, yet for as long as he could remember, he was all 1s across the board, bolstered only through naps and the sheer magical intent in Papyrus’ spaghetti. Sure, it tasted horrible, but magic was magic, and boy did Paps put a lot in his cooking. And he was pretty sure that if not for the Judge in his bones, that he would have Dusted on sheer despair by now. Whether because he didn’t have the person he lived for in his life anymore...or because of the helplessness that swallowed him once the brothers pulled him into their world.

But as roaming hands and urgent whispers culminated into a shared Glow, something felt different. Sans couldn’t place why. Maybe it was because his magic was so heated before they began. Or because it had been a while since they had merged their souls. But it took so little for Edge to coax his soul forth and it was so easy to lose himself to the pleasure it brought. (Maybe the difference was the startling image that came to mind of introducing Papyrus to his nieces and nephews.) He would blame the disorienting mix of loneliness and wayward hope for the picture. He wouldn’t be so alone if he had a child. He raised Papyrus. It wouldn’t be so bad doing it again. And maybe, given time, he might even see his brother again.

(Was he horrible for the momentary yearning for a child? One was inevitable, but the brothers’ LV already proved to be an obstacle that would take a long time to overcome, if ever.)

As he fell back against the bed, Sans was left with the sensation of being overfull. His Soul beating sluggishly with the transfer of magic. Typically he would fall asleep at this point. But his mind raced. He stared up at Edge’s face and those hellfire eyelights. Sex and desire were almost simple at this point. They didn’t need to get along. Sans didn’t really even need to be especially happy. Because it honestly felt nice. And he would rather feel good and have this intimacy than be alone. 

(Angel Above, was he really that lonely?)

The logical part of his mind demanded that he remain rational. Impartial even. But the emotional part—the part he left buried beneath years of apathy—clung to pleasure like a life raft in a churning black sea. He’d been drowning in the dark for so long. Guilt and shame clawed at his bones, whispered all the reasons he should hate this monster and never offer an ounce of forgiveness. How he was pathetic for taking solace in the arms of his unwanted husband—the man who so ruthlessly conquered his world and left Papyrus alone in it. 

Edge pressed their mouths together, ready to roll away, but Sans hooked his legs around his hips and kept him close. 

“more.”

It was a quiet, pitiful request. 

One easily snuffed out by any mention of duty or requirements or disinterest. He wasn’t about to beg.

“...What do you want?” Edge whispered.

Sans curled his toes and dared a light press of teeth on Edge’s collarbone. Edge shuddered.

“Anything you want,” he breathed. “just ask it of me.”

_i want freedom. i want my brother. i want a damn bottle of ketchup._

“i want...i want…i wanna feel good. make me feel good.”

When they finally emerged from the bedroom, Sans was muzzy and his joints glittering with an excess of magic. Red was nowhere in sight. And Edge...he kept touching Sans. A hand on his shoulder. The small of his back. He even ushered Sans to his reading corner with a palm flat on his spine. For the rest of the afternoon they read in companionable silence, Edge indulging in an Advanced Puzzle Theory book while Sans kept it light with a new novel that had somehow found its way onto his personal shelf. 

The quiet only broke when Red arrived with bags of food.

But when Red looked at Sans, his triumphant expression shifted, his gaze flicking to Sans’ chest then back up. He blinked then masked his curiosity with a lewd sneer. 

“work up an appetite, sansy~?”

“oh fuck off and give me the burger,” Sans snarked back, closing the novel and following the scent of burgz.

Behind him, Edge chuckled.


	10. Disgusting

Sans is aware the instant it happens. The condensed magic in his Soul diffuses away, dissolving into his system and dispersing through his mana lines. It’s late and Edge was sleeping, which left Sans to sort out his feelings alone. It wasn’t a souling. Not yet. Just the promise of one...and now, it was gone. He slipped out of bed and into a pair of slippers, quick to shuffle into the antechamber. Sans needed the space. He needed to think. To breathe.

_m’not ready for a kid, not really._

He crossed his arms, his soulbeat pounding faster. 

_we can try again. this stuff happens._

He paced, his breathing quicker.

_but...what if...what if it never happens?_

His throat burned.

_what if i can’t carry a souling to term?_

Sans brought his hands to his temples and tried to soothe the pounding in his skull. He trembled, his breathing sharper, the ache in his throat migrating to settle like a knife in his chest. The walls loomed closer and closer, as if they were about to crush him to pieces for being so...useless. He choked on a tinge of laughter. What a joke. He was sold off in marriage to a hostile alternate timeline for the sole purpose of producing an heir...and he may not be able to hold up his end of the bargain. What would Edge do if he found out? Red? 

He sank to the floor, shoulders shaking, and wasn’t sure if he was laughing or sobbing. Hysterical. Was that the word? Like a maiden from one of those bodice rippers that occasionally found their way onto ‘his shelf’ (because Red thought he was funny). Sans deserved some hysterics. The fact he hadn’t cracked before now was a stars dusting miracle fueled by sheer, belligerent apathy and sex. God, he was pathetic. He curled more in on himself, phalange tips digging into the exposed bone of his upper arms. 

“get up, the world aint endin’, level bait.”

Sans dug his fingers more roughly into bone, until it began to hurt.

“sansy, aint gonna repeat myself. get up.”

A hand gripped Sans’ wrist and suddenly, he was yanked to his feet, skull burning as tears dripped down his cheekbones. His whole body ached. “i can feel the deltarune,” Sans rasped. “aint that hilarious?”

Red turned him around, put them face-to-face, “only if the punchline is that it hurts like a sonuvabitch.”

“heh. punchline. good one.”

“yer were all peachy at dinner. fuck drunk and ready for round two on the dining table if the look on yer face while eating the burg was any indication.”

“you and your brother were the ones creepily watching me eat.”

“what can i say, it was hot. you all glassy eyed and moaning and talking about how good it is. instaboner material right there.” When Sans didn’t respond, Red gave the side of his face a gentle smack, as if trying to wake him up. “stay wit me, sansy.”

“fuck off.”

“i’d rather fuck yer,” Red countered with none of the usual flirtatiousness. As if crudeness was just a reflex rather than a choice.

_it’s all you’re worth. if you can’t give edge a kid, then you have nothing else to give but your body. if you’re lucky maybe red would keep you alive long enough to find a new way to protect papyrus._

Red tapped his face again, “hey, what i say?”

_i don’t wanna think right now. i don’t wanna feel._

Sans gripped Red’s collar and pulled his teeth to his with a clatter. Red was still and unresponsive at first, but after a moment, wrapped his arms around Sans, complying with the unspoken demand. He didn’t resist an inch as Sans shoved him into the very couch that Red pinned him against previously, and it wasn’t long before they were on it, making out, Sans straddling Red, fingers working under Red’s sweater. 

“take whatcher need, sweetheart,” Red murmured and Sans shut him up again with tongue this time. It was artless and dirty and clumsy. Sans gripped Red’s chipped ribs and stroked until the other let out a groan, hips bucking. But despite his clear interest, Red’s hands remained in platonic places, and his magic stayed unformed...as did Sans’. It wasn’t the most graceful or proudest moment when Sans groped at his own pelvis, trying to urge something into existence. Anything. But there were no skitters of arousal. If anything, he felt shudders of disgust.

What was he doing?

“i said stay wit me, sansy,” Red growled. Sans blinked damp sockets and stared down at his opposite. “whatcher see?”

“i...you? your eyelights mostly…” It was dark.

Red’s hands stroked his back, “feel?”

“your...hands? your...ribs...you have a crack in this one.”

“killed the guy that gave it to me,” Red quipped. “whatcher smell?”

“this twenty questions?”

“do it.”

“cigarettes, mustard and your bone wash...and...something alcoholic?” 

“i’d offer yer a nightcap, but the boss would strangle me and not in a fun way.”

“freak.”

“don’t kinkshame me...or do...i can get off on that too.”

“you…” Sans huffed and went limp against Red’s chest, the fuss and fight abandoning him. “i can’t deal with you right now.”

“that mean we’re done swappin’ spit?”

“yeah and you need mouthwash.”

“heh. mebbe later.”

Sans wasn’t expecting to exchange snarky commentary until he fell unconscious...or sleep so deeply sprawled on Red’s chest. It was noon the next day when he and his double stirred. Apparently, Edge deemed today an appropriate day for Sans and Red to laze about. But while he slept, he didn’t feel well rested. He honestly didn’t feel much at all. So he closed his eyes again and drifted off, hoping the next time he opened them, the world would feel more real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +hides+


	11. Slippery

“SANS, YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF BED.”

It had been three days since the jaws of despair locked around Sans, ravenous and unrelenting. He hadn’t eaten or showered. Even lifting the book Edge brought to the bedroom and left on the nightstand was too much effort. 

Hands tucked under his arms and lifted, forcing Sans to dangle like a kitten. The Detarune throbbed from the not-quite-command, but even the ache didn’t phase him. Heavy lids fluttered shut and Edge sighed.

“I SUPPOSE WE WILL BE DOING THIS THE HARD WAY.” Edge carried Sans into the bathroom and stuck him in the shower. “YOU CAN EITHER UNDRESS YOURSELF OR I WILL DO IT FOR YOU AND YOU WON’T LIKE THE SECOND OPTION.” When Sans didn’t respond, he turned on the water. It was cold. But it was fine...it would warm up. Edge muttered a curse and stripped off his sleeping pants. Sans was in his usual hoodie and shorts, as he hadn’t changed clothes either. 

Said clothes were sodden by the time Edge worked them off and tossed them aside, once more trying to put Sans on his feet. Tired. So tired. Sans leaned against Edge’s chest, ready to fall asleep again right there in the shower. 

“THIS BEHAVIOR IS UNACCEPTABLE.”

There was a click and the scent of lavender filled the shower. Soon there was the gentle scrub of a loofa on his bones. Heh. The first time he saw the obnoxiously pink thing in the shower he’d laughed. Edge defended his bathroom accessory with the usual vigor and venom, declaring it to be most practical when soap slid easily between fingerbones. 

“makin’ me all slippery here?” Sans mumbled. “not the way you usually do it.”

“...REALLY? WHY OF ALL THE TRAITS TO SHARE WITH MY BROTHER, MUST IT INCLUDE INAPPROPRIATELY TIMED USE OF CRUDE HUMOR?”

“...eh...sorry...i guess.”

There was thick, uneasy silence as Edge washed him down before at last, he buckled, “It...no, I apologize. I should mind my temper with you, even when you’re being frustrating.” Tact thy name was not Edge. But he could appreciate the honesty. 

“feelin’ pent up?”

“I suppose,” he began, then as if suddenly catching onto the implication, Edge huffed and briskly rinsed the suds off Sans. “You’re in no state for any such activities and I’m not in the mood.”

“i’d be okay with it.”

“What?” Edge turned off the water and fetched a towel, drying them both off.

Sans shrugged, heavy lids cracking blearily open, “if you change your mind about bein’ in the mood. it’s fine.”

That was the wrong thing to say apparently because Edge’s eyelights went hard and he stalked out the bathroom, leaving Sans cocooned in the towel. When he returned, he was silent, and dressed Sans with a certainty that left the impression that he’d had plenty of practice. Soon Sans was bundled in a fresh graphic tee and shorts, with the new powder-blue jacket fitted on top. It was soft. The scent of leather engulfing him made him think of Red. Upon realizing that Sans was happy to keep sitting on the floor, Edge once more hauled Sans up and this time, dropped him in ‘his’ chair, plopping the astronomy book on his lap for good measure.

Sans yawned.

Edge made another noise, this one akin to a tea kettle.

A hazy eyelight met hellfire red and Edge crossed his arms, as if to shelter his soul from the Judge’s all-seeing gaze, “you’re upset.”

“Brilliant detective work.”

“...why? m’just bein’ a lazybones like normal.”

“Why?” Edge sputtered as if Sans had just thrown tea in his face. “You can’t even stay awake for five minutes and you have the gall to suggest I just—” 

Sans blinked and slumped a little in the chair, still dozy, “sure. feels nice. better to feel good for a bit than—nevermind. and there’s that whole...y’know...heir thing. heh. contracts and all that.”

Edge pinged him with an unexpected CHECK, his voice soft but strained, “You’re in pain, aren’t you? You’re sleeping because the DeltaRune is hurting you.” Edge held up a hand, “Don’t deny it.” Red must have blabbed. Or his description in the CHECK betrayed him.

“...it’s fine. i’ll get over it.”

“I am supposed to be okay with you wanting to dust so badly that the only thing propping you up is an order?”

“oh.”

Edge was fierce in his unstated fury, his aura terrible and terrifying, no matter how composed his body language and expression, “You’re not allowed to die, Sans.”

“heh. why not just order me to be happy? wouldn’t that fix the problem?”

Emphasizing the power imbalance in that one, bitter statement was enough to tip Edge’s patience. “I have one order and one alone, Sans. And that is you are to live.” And with that, the conversation ended, Edge thundering off, magic crackling around him. 

And Sans?

He realized in an instant that Edge made a critical error with his newest command.


	12. Dune

“lost in yer head again, sansy?”

Sans blinked and frowned down at the book in his hands. It was a weighty hardback of Dune, a science fiction book he’d found pieces of before in the dump, but never had a chance to read in its entirety until now. Not that he was reading it. He opened it this morning and couldn’t recall a word despite absently flipping through pages out of habit.

“readin’.”

“yer were on that same page fer five minutes and didn’t respond when i ‘ported in.”

“you’ve been watching me like a creep again?”

Red shrugged, “boss’ orders.”

“m’fine now. you get in your moods, i get in mine. low hp and all that. ”

“uh-huh. didn’t realize actively suicidal was a mood.”

“it wasn’t like that,” Sans shut the book. “i just…”

“didn’t care if yer were alive or dead?”

“sorry.”

Red scoffed and plucked the novel from Sans, dropping it casually on the shelf beside them. He remained in Sans’ space, invading his boundaries like the goblin he was. “stop apologizing fer shit yer aint sorry ‘bout,” he said, hands braced on either arm of the chair. “now...here’s the real question. yer wanna get back to self-defense training or spend the afternoon making out? i don’t got plans after feedin’ yer lunch.”

“you really know how to lay down the charm,” Sans drawled. “how can a guy resist an offer like that?”

“i know, i’m fuckin’ irresistable.”

“i thought your brother’s name was papyrus?”

“pfft. aight, i got the hint, sansy. c’mon, chow time.”

Despite the earlier proposition, there was nothing more than the usual sexual harassment engaged over the rest of the day. Red dumped Sans on his tailbone a few times and Sans managed to nick his leg with the knife while on the ground. After getting a shoe to the sternum for his efforts, they called it quits. 

“yer keep flakin’ out,” Red observed, an odd glint in his eye. “ketchup packet for yer thoughts?”

“heh. i’ll pass on the figurative condiments.”

“shame.”

“what can i say, i’m a real bonehead. nothin’ but empty air knockin’ around up here,” he rapped the side of his skull.

“mhm. did screwin’ around with the boss make that advanced education shit leak out?”

“you’re assuming there was any left in my head to screw out.”

“the creampuff seemed to think yer wuz a smart cookie.”

“red, is there a purpose to this? i kinda want a nap and you’re cramping my chill.”

“...naw. just being a nosy bastard. part of the job.” His stare lingered for a bit before he added, “and yer did just have an episode bad enough that boss doesn’t want yer left alone wit yer own thoughts too much.”

“he doesn’t need to worry.”

“tch. that’s what he does,” Red grumbled. “go take yer nap, level bait. I won’t tattle.”

Sans went to bed, but found that sleep didn’t come. A blanket pulled over his head, he stared aimlessly into the dark, thoughts awhirl. It was only when he let himself contemplate the possibility of stepping beyond these walls and found that there was no rebuff that he actually let his eyelids flutter shut. His soul raced. It was such a stupid idea. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID! He was so stupid and useless and worthless and—

And what if this was his only chance? Did he want to lay meekly in wait and see if his fears came true? 

_You’ll break their trust._

It didn’t matter. Not when their trust rested on this marriage working. And he was broken. So broken and pathetic.

_What about Papyrus?_

The kid might have already RESET. His timeline could feasibly be lost. Maybe the Papyrus he knew didn’t exist anymore...or maybe he’d already dusted…

Or maybe he was waiting, lost and alone…

Maybe Sans could return to him. Apologize for being an inadequate fool in person. 

_It’s his fault you’re here._

Sans curled up. He did what he thought was best for the kingdom. He didn’t know Sans could fight. He thought he was saving Sans’ life. He thought their world was salvageable.

_Just give up. Don’t risk it._

“Sans?” Edge peeled away the blanket. How long had he been wallowing in his own thoughts? “You’ve been crying.”

“...bad dream.”

“Oh. Nightmares again?”

“...yeah…” Sans wasn’t sure why he continued the lie. “about my brother. we’ve never been apart this long and i—”

“He is alive, there is no need for this worry.”

“how do you know that?”

Edge quirked his head to the side, “We have a diplomatic relationship between our kingdoms. It behooves myself as king to know such things as whether or not my allied nation’s ruler is dust.”

Sans stared at him, “i want to see him. i want to see my brother. please.” It would be enough. It would push these ridiculous, suicidal thoughts of escape from his head. Proof that his brother was still alive and this fight worth fighting. Of hoping that Edge would tolerate Sans even if a souling never came into fruition. “papyrus.”

His husband’s eyelights quivered at the use of his name. Sans had avoided calling him such as often as possibly, and never had spoken it with such desperate reverence. He wanted this more than his own life. More than ketchup. More than freedom.

“...Not at this time, Sans. Perhaps in the future when things are...more secure.”

And just like that, Sans’ hopes are dashed. Another thing out of reach because he hadn’t yet conceived. Edge did look remorseful, but that switched to shock when Sans moved quicker than he’d ever seen, propping onto his knees and cradling Edge’s hips in his hands. 

“then how ‘bout we work on making things...secure,” Sans whispered, a little manic even to his own nonexistent ears.

Edge laid large, gloved palms over Sans’ knuckles and slowly peeled his phalanges away, before pressing a too-gentle kiss to Sans’ skull, “When you’re more recovered. Come, it’s time for dinner.”

As he watched Edge walk away, the world fell out of focus, leaving him lost and stumbling in a desert of despair, gusts of sand clouding any sight of the past, present or future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Dune is an actual sci-fi book/series and conviently so, because I was at a loss for what to otherwise do with today's prompt. xD


	13. Armor

When Red’s cloak hits the floor, Sans’ head jerks up. He’d been ripping apart and putting together Edge’s latest gift—a non-functional VCR and a stack of VHS tapes—in the corner, when his alternate appeared and began the world’s most unsexy strip tease in the middle of the room. He donned a discreet, dark set of leathers that morning and a heavy, nondescript cloak without adornment or trim. For what purpose, Sans didn’t know. He couldn’t help but watch as Red tossed pieces of armor into a scattered heap on the floor, groaning with no small amount of relief when he kicked off his boots. Soon he stood in just shirtsleeves and boxers, his socks having found themselves balled up and tossed onto a nearby chair. 

He stretched, bones popping scandalously, and yawned, sharp phalanges scritching at his sternum. When he caught Sans’ stare, he smirked, “sup sansy. see sumthin’ yer like?”

“nope.”

“ouch. yer so cruel.”

“m’not picking up your stuff and the maid’s already been by to clean.”

Red chuckled, “worried ‘bout boss given’ me the ol’ riot act? don’t be. boss is busy. probably won’t even be back here until tomorrow.”

“just you and me then?”

“till after lunch. then it’s just yer. gotta be responsible and shit.”

Sans started working on the VCR again, his hands shaking just a hint, “y’know, i don’t think i’ve ever asked what you actually do. i mean, besides the obvious.” Was his role like Sans’ had been in his own universe? Did he roam in the background, handling administrative duties and balancing the budgets? That didn’t seem like Red’s style.

“whatcher willin’ to trade fer that info?”

He rolled his eyelights. Of course, nothing was free unless there was an advantage to be gained by forking information over without a price tag. Sans had been in this hellverse long enough to understand that. But damn if it wasn’t annoying to keep hitting this one particular cultural roadblock. Then again, was he really that much different? Back home he had a number of favors and debts in his pockets. Everybody knew his name even if they didn’t _know_ him. He was that funny skeleton that sold hotcats and slept on guard duty and performed bad comedy skits at Mettaton’s hotel. He was everywhere and nowhere at once. He later became the brother to the king, the brains behind the crown. Papyrus wasn’t stupid (he was so smart, so damn smart in ways nobody else seemed to appreciate)...however his optimism could be a hinderance when it came to the non-social aspects of the job. It isn’t to say he was a total figurehead. Sans didn’t want to be king. But there had been an unspoken awareness that there was a delicate dance when tough calls needed made. 

“meh, i’ve decided i don’t care.”

“liar.”

Sans shrugged, “whatever suits your narrative, i guess.”

“lame,” Red ambled away, only to return ten minutes later in the attire he’d seen him in during the invasion. A leather jacket with fluffy trim in the hood, basketball shorts and half-laced sneakers. Peeking over the neck of his sweater was his collar, metal bits gleaming, as if a trophy on proud display. He shortcutted off and returned with a tray of food. And once Sans ate enough to make him happy, he made his exit. “alight sansy, don’t do anythin’ i would do while i’m gone.”

“...i’ll try my hardest to leave the furniture unmolested.”

“as sexy as these chairs are, they’re much hotter with you bent over them.”

“dude. really?”

Red cackled as he slipped through a shortcut, leaving Sans alone. Very alone. Too alone. Alone with himself and his thoughts and a pile of armor. Sans swallowed and tried to focus on the VCR. Tried not to think about the fact hat Red was busy and Edge wouldn’t be back tonight and how easy it would be to just...walk out. The screwdriver slipped from his phalanges. His mouth was dry and his vision blurred. His soul wouldn’t stop racing. This was his chance. If he was going to get out of these rooms and possibly find the timeline crossing machine, then would be ever have a better opportunity than this?

_Bad idea. Bad idea. BadideaBadideaBadidea._

He stood and slowly walked to the armor. He knew from borrowing Red’s clothes that it would fit. Maybe loosely, but it certainly wouldn’t fall off like if he tried to do the same with Edge’s attire. Sans picked up a glove. Maybe he should just take this to Red’s room so Edge didn’t get upset. But Red’s quarters were always locked...even the maids weren’t allowed inside to clean. He pulled on the glove and flexed his phalanges. 

This was a bad idea.

He’d never put on armor before. Though he helped Edge out of his near nightly. His hands were clumsy as he shed his precious hoodie and strapped on the chestplate. 

This was a bad idea.

Bracers, greaves, gloves and boots. He didn’t have a name for many of the pieces but he strapped them on anyway.

This was a bad idea.

He picked up the cloak and clasped it in the front, pulling the hood up. A quick jaunt to the bathroom revealed that he did indeed look nothing like himself and entirely like a certain someone else.

This was a bad idea.

Sans was sweating as he retrieved his dagger from underneath his pillow, where Edge and Red both insisted he keep it when asleep. He was pretty bad about remembering to take it with him unless a lesson was scheduled. The sheath hooked easily onto the belt, entirely in place with the rest of the look.

This was a bad idea.

Soon he was at the door. The very door that led to the castle and the rest of the outside world. He could still stop. He could still turn back. He could still try to make the lie work. He turned the knob and cracked the door open.

This was a bad idea...but when had he ever done the smart thing?


	14. Outpost

He is a shadow in the cold, gloomy halls of the castle. Each turn is familiar, though the scenery changed and the atmosphere that of corruption. Walls where there should be beautiful murals are painted over in menacing black and red. There are signs of neglect and disuse in halls that were once well-walked by the Asgore he knew. The servants are few and flit in and out sight, little more overt than the shadows they walk in. Non pause to watch him. It is as if he doesn’t exist.

It isn’t long before Sans finds the throne room and the barren earth where goldenflowers should bloom. His quick exploration of the castle thus far turned up no signs of a machine or a war room where he might find the current monarch’s plans. Which left him with a choice. To continue searching the castle or to leave its walls behind? It wasn’t too late to turn back. He could go to his rooms and toss off the armor like none of this happened. 

But the Judgement Hall seemed to call to him and it wasn’t long before he once more stood in its blighted glory. 

_i don’t belong here,_ he silently willed to the room. _i’m not your judge._

His feet moved again. 

It isn’t long before he reaches the doors to the castle, where guards stood at either side, armored and alert. Does he risk attempting to trick them? Does Red even use doors? Would they smell the lack of cigarettes and mustard on his breath? Sans stepped behind a column and breathed in. To turn back or to continue on. To turn back or continue on. To turn back or…?

_you know what they say, you only live once._

And despite his better judgement, Sans imagined his guard station in Hotland. Teleporting without an exact idea of where you are going and the environment in which you are teleporting to was dangerous. At best the shortcut would fail and at worst...well, he theoretically could survive clipping pieces of himself through another object...unfortunately. With that lovely possibility in mind, he walked around the column, willing his magic to manipulate reality itself for an instant. It worked better with doors, but any corner that obscured sight worked for the shortcut’s mental ‘trick’. For most people, if they opened a door, it would 100% lead to the same place every time. But for Sans, this was not the case. The door usually lead to the same place every time...unless he used the void to make the chance of it leading elsewhere a non-zero value. 

It was as natural as breathing to Sans at this point.

But for a soulbeat, he feared it wouldn’t work, that he would open his eyes and see the door to the castle.

However, as he rounded the column, he felt the chill of the void...and then the heat of Hotland. He released his breath. He was outside. Not just outside his rooms but outside of the castle. Outside of New Home. Of course, he considered the possibility that he should have searched the labs before ‘porting this far, but Sans shook his head. No. Red wouldn’t have trusted Alphys with a machine that could bend and break reality. But then where? 

He took in his immediate surroundings. Nobody in sight, though there were buildings, most of which were boarded up with threatening signage painted on the front. To his left was the hotland sentry station, as ramshackle as ever with snow on the top. Heh. Classic. With one more look around for observers, Sans ducked behind the station and pulled a face of disgust when all he found was empty mustard bottles and cigarette butts and what was probably monster dust. Nothing helpful. As he stood up, a vulcin puttered to a pause, black smoke curling from its body. It didn’t have a lot of LV, but enough to leave a sour taste in Sans’ mouth as it postured, trying to appear large and menacing.

Oh, right. It thought Sans was...a different Sans.

Clearing his throat, Sans lowered his voice to Red’s guttural growl, “quit yer starin’ and fuck off before i lose my paitience.”

The vulcin blew more smoke, but wavered in its determination, scuttling off in retreat with a crude gesture in its wake. Well then. One disaster avoided. Be a shame to get all the way out here only to be killed because he looked at some random stranger wrong. That said, hotland was a crowded, busy place. It was after lunch, which meant he missed the peak of midday commute, and gave him a chance to think, but he couldn’t loiter. He needed to make a choice and get a move on. But where?

With one last look at the snow on the roof of the stand, Sans closed his eyes and pictured his outpost in Snowdin.

When he opened them again, he was assaulted with an almost comforting chill. Ankle deep in snow, the air cold and crisp, nothing in sight but trees and rocks...he could almost pretend he was home again. How easy it would be to wander into town and knock back a cold one at Grillby’s. Or chat with the dog pack. He could imagine Papyrus, still in his battle body, setting up ‘fair’ traps to capture a human so he could join the royal guard. But he wasn’t so naive. 

_i wonder…?_

He willed his way through another shortcut, this time arriving at a door he spent hours practicing knock-knock jokes and bantering with the old lady that lived beyond it. However, reality crashed in hard when he wasn’t met with the sight of a smooth, stone entrance that led to the long since blockaded Ruins...but instead, with a pile of rubble. Like it had been destroyed. Sans hesitantly inched closer, inspecting the wreckage. Spray painted on some of the rocks were the only signs of what might have happened.

_Traitor. You abandoned us. Human lover. Down with the Tyrant’s Queen! Rot in hell._

“what happened to you, old lady?”

He’d always felt a pull to this place, to the monster within. He had hazy memories of a warm laugh and an echo of a kind embrace. Like he knew her. Like they knew each other. But in some lost, forgotten time and place. Sans wondered if she ever realized that he knew she was the missing third in the Detarune’s trifecta? If she knew that his promise to protect the human child was an oath he couldn’t refuse? He slid down to sit in the snow, unwilling to leave just yet. He rapped his knuckles on one of the broken stones.

“knock knock,” he paused. “you’re s’posed to say who’s there.” He paused again. “anyway. who’s there? sans...sans who?” He gave a bitter laugh. “ _sans_ about right. m’nobody important. on the account of havin’ no body and all that. just bones. i gotta ‘nother rib-tickler if you’re in the mood?” Sans listened. Nothing. It was quieter than the grave out here. “heh. tough crowd. here’s one that’s bound to hit ya right in the funny bone…”

He lost track of how long he rambled to the weighty silence, his tone shifting from casual to manic the longer he spoke. Precious seconds, minutes, perhaps even hours, wasted, just sitting there in the snow like a lazy lump, instead of doing anything productive. He could have gone into town and looked for the machine in Snowdin. Maybe even ‘ported into the basement. That was where he kept his machine. Not that it punched holes between universes. Or maybe it could. He never did get the thing to work right. He kinda gave up on trying to fix it when the resets started and the readings it gave confirmed the fears he had when reading his own scattered notes. It took him too long to understand why he had a gory, apathetic list of check marks beside ‘he died’. Or why ‘beware the talking flower’ had nothing to do with the echo flowers in Waterfall.

Suddenly, the sound of a broken branch shattered the silence. Sans’ eyelights blacked out as he stood up. He wasn’t alone anymore.


	15. Rocket

_“I smell tasty bones.”_

Shit.

A jolt of pure fear lanced through Sans’ body, sending him rocketing to his feet. He couldn’t see anyone, but he could feel them. Sense them. Their LV was frigid, colder than the frosty air that turned each breath into a sheer, frothy fog. He swallowed and shuffled backward until his heels bumped the rubble of the door. Back home nobody ever came out this far. The door was his little personal secret. Another crack of splintering wood made him go still. He couldn’t panic. Not now. Sans tried to even his breathing. He looked like Red right now. Tough, intimidating, murdering Red. 

Except, those growls that rumbled through trees...he knew those growls. And the noses that those growls belonged to wouldn’t be fooled by a costume and a gruff attitude. His hand brushed the dagger belted to his hip and with sweat dripping down his spine, he unsheathed it. Then he began inching towards the cover of trees. He needed to ‘port but his reserves were low and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to shortcut without the aid of a visual break, such as a tree or an especially tall snow poff. 

A howl shattered any remaining calm. Oversensitive nerves left his body dancing with ants and his soul leapt into an uneven tempo that wasn’t possibly healthy. 

_”Come out, come out, tasty bones~”_

Sans didn’t like running. He rarely moved faster than an amble unless avoiding certain death. But his feet moved on their own accord as he threw himself towards the treeline, legs pumping as fast as they could through deepening banks of snow. Fiendish laughter mocked his retreat. They were close. So close. And ready to eat him alive. He glanced over his shoulder and saw them. Lean, haggard shadows loomed against a backdrop of white, only the glint of armor betraying their possession of physical form. 

Suddenly, one of the dogs broke from the pack and pounced, leaping with practiced and predatory skill. Sans jerked out of the way of impact, and found himself face-to-muzzle with Doggo. Except this version had half of his face mauled into a ruin of scars, the eye on that side gouged out until only a grisly sockey remained. His other eye was red with the LV burning in his veins and his teeth were chipped and capped with gold, much like Red’s own falsie. His breath was humid and hot on Sans’ skull.

“Where do ya think yer goin’ sweetbones?”

Doggo spoke with a similar, roughed accent as Red. A mix of Hotland’s street growl and Snowdin’s backwater backwash drawl. He smelled of dog treats and death. There was dust on his cheek. Oh god, did they actually EAT other monsters?! 

Sans tried to back away but Doggo closed in, a dagger quick to find its way to Sans’ neck. He didn’t lop his head off immediately. That was good. He still had time. He could get out of this mess. Over Doggo’s shoulder, he spotted an out of place gleam. A camera. Alphys! He wasn’t sure if he was filled with dread or relief at the faint prospect that someone knew where he was. Someone who could tell Red or Edge that he was alive and being accosted by one of the dog pack. 

“f-fuck off,” Sans rasped, his voice terribly soft. He cleared his throat. “i said fuck off, doggo, ‘fore i dust ya.”

Doggo frowned, nose twitching. His sight was shit when he had both eyes, and fortunately, he never was the smartest pup in the litter. “Sans?” he sniffed again. “You look like Sans. Sound like Sans. But you can’t fool me, imposter.” His growl deepened as he pressed the dagger firmer against Sans’ throat. “Impersonating a member of the royal family is punishable by death, sweetbones.”

The other members of the dog pack were starting to circle. As if waiting for a cue to start ripping Sans apart. 

“c-check me,” Sans croaked out.

That was enough to startle Doggo into loosening his grip. The PING of a CHECK followed and a strangled gasp escaped. 

“Fuck!” What did he see? “What kind of trickery is this?”

“it’s not. check’s don’t lie.”

His single eye gleamed with something not quite sane, “I’m dead. You’ve signed my death warrant, sweetbones.” Sans watched with horror as Doggo cocked back a dagger for a finishing blow. “Unless I can eliminate all proof that yer were here.”

PING.

Doggo froze.

“you’re blue now,” Sans murmured. He shoved the crazed dog away, pinning him to the ground. Sans swallowed, sweat dripping down his whole body as the tension broke and literal hell went loose. There were four more members of the pack, and they were all closing on him. Sans lurched back just in time to avoid Dogamy and Dogressa’s bladed assault. Lesser dog grabbed him, but before he could complete the grapple, Sans jammed the naked dagger into his wrist, twisting until he heard a crack like Red instructed. It was morbid. He was thrown as Lesser howled in pain. Sans couldn’t keep this up. He wasn’t a fighter. Not really. He was running on a few weeks of self-defense lessons and a manic terror of being eaten alive. 

_They dare make an attempt on the life of a Judge?_

The Deltarune itched. 

Sans dodged Greater Dog’s attempts to hack him half, and scrambled backwards, “l-look. g-g-ood dogs. you’re good dogs who don’t really want to hurt me, right?”

Dogamy’s tail flicked. Okay, Promising. Very promising.

“i just wanna go home. i’ll let you guys t-take me to the captain of the guard or whatever. i won’t fight ya.”

Dogressa smacked her husband on the back of the head, “The impersonator is tricking you. He’s trying to fool all of us.”

“look, we don’t need to fight.”

A glint of metal whistled through the crisp, Snowdin air. Sans dodged. The blade lodged into Greater Dog’s chest. A growl rippled through the whole pack and the air began to crackle with that same, unstable charge that made him leery of Edge. Their LV. He was a threat to the well-being of the pack and eliminating him was the solution. He felt it in his bones. Heh. 

For a brief, bitter moment, he wondered if this was the end. If this was where he died. But as if someone set his bones aflame, he knew that wasn’t an option. He couldn’t defy his king’s orders. He was to live. No matter what. He was to remain alive. Escape was less and less of an option, but he didn’t want to kill. He wasn’t a murderer. And he wasn’t a monster with nothing left to lose. He thought back to the Judgement Hall, to that day where he had so desperately wanted to banish the invaders from the castle. All he had left in that broken timeline was Papyrus. He didn’t want to lose him to their dark copies in a dust bath. But Papyrus choked the fight out of him with an invisible chain. The same chain that now demanded that he not lie down in submission.

Obey. He could do no less than obey the Crown. Even if it compromised every moral he possessed. 

Magic swelled in his left socket, a final warning of a Judgement that would soon come to pass.

The dogs balked at the sight of it. 

“let me go or i will execute you all,” Sans deadpanned, his voice dropping an octave. Not kill. Not dust. Execute. Dogressa shuddered. Dogamy whimpered. Greater and Lesser lowered their weapons. All in shock, perhaps, of what they bore witness to. Doggo struggled to his feet, still under the pressure of Sans’ blue attack. It was a standoff. 

_“heh. i’d listen to ‘im if i wuz yer.”_

Like a dark, avenging angel of death, Red emerged from behind a tree. 

“Sir!” the dogs barked. 

Red tilted his skull in Sans’ direction and slowly, extended a hand. A silent demand. 

Sans offered a weak, crooked smile and shook his head.

And with what energy Sans had left, he summoned a barrage of bones between himself and the others and ran. He ignored every yip and howl and shout. He ignored the growing fatigue that begged him to lay down and sleep. And when he hit the treeline, he leapt through the void, and collapsed on the other side of the shortcut, the dagger still in his hand clattering across the stone beneath him.

He chuckled to himself until laughter turned to sobs. What was he doing? Why did he run? Oh angel above, why did he leave in the first place? It was over. He fucked up and gained nothing for his little journey outside of the castle. Now Papyrus would suffer the consequences for his own idiocy. 

Once more lost himself to an overwhelming despair…

...the crystals of the Wishing Room the only witness.


	16. Storm

Sans has no idea how long he laid on the cold, damp ground. How long he cried or how long he slept. But when he roused, he was still jittery. His emotions raw. They hadn’t found him yet. Or maybe they were waiting for him to crawl home with his head low, begging for forgiveness. His skull throbbed. His body ached. He was only good at one thing and that was giving up. However, he’d come this far. If he was going to suffer for his rebellion, might as well give them one helluva good reason to punish him. He laughed at that. Good idea, Sansy, piss off your captors as much as possible to get the maximum worth out of his brother’s inevitable pain. 

He peered at the crystals. Most were dislodged, likely stolen, but some still glittered in the walls, reflecting his pitiful state a hundred times over. 

With a huff, he pushed to his feet.

He had another stop to make.

When he stepped through the void, it was into darkness. He floundered for a lightswitch and eventually, he found it. Sans blinked as his vision adjusted. Evidently, Sans wasn’t the only ‘smart cookie’ if the piles of scrap parts and walls covered in schematics were any kind of tell. Habitually, he drifted to the work bench, where a little shuffling revealed the same hidden compartment he had in his own. There, within, was a little black book, an ID badge and a torn photograph. A young Red stood with an even younger Edge, a triumphant grin on his sharp smile. Beside them was a tall monster in a long white coat, his head missing, the corner of the image having been ripped off. There was something familiar about the tall monster that he couldn’t place. Next he looked at the ID. It was the same as Sans’ own, but with Red’s face. Eerie. Too eerie. 

The black book...Sans cracked it open and found the pages blank. That was...suspect. He laid it down and hurried to the far end of the room, where a tarp covered a large shape. A machine. The machine. It had to be. Sans kept his in the basement. Why would Red be any different? Sans yanked back the tarp to find…

Nothing.

Just a broken pile of scrap. 

“find whatcher lookin’ fer, sansy?”

Sans dropped the tarp, unwilling to look back at Red, “where is it?”

“where’s what?”

“the machine.”

“don’t see why that’s any of yer business.”

A pause.

“time to come home. ya had yer fun.”

“this was all a set up.”

“eh, not all of it. didn’t figure yer would spend so long at that damn door yer would get found by the dogs. color me surprised.”

“surprised they found me or surprised they didn’t eat me?”

“surprised yer didn’t come here once yer saw there wuz nothin’ at the ruins for ya.” Footsteps. Red idled closer. “must say i’m a lil disappointed. some exp woulda done yer some good if ya hadn’t pussied out and actually killed the dog pack. yer coulda, couldn’t yer? i felt it back when we met. yer not as pathetic as yer stats let everyone think.” He was at Sans’ back now. “yer coulda ripped apart the underground if yer wanted. damned this whole world to hell like the judge wants yer to do. hehe. i feel it sometimes. fuck’em all. they’re not worth savin’.”

Sans swallowed, “heh. why didn’t you?”

“...yer know why.”

“and you know why i had to try.”

“yeah.”

“i just wanna see paps. i want my brother.”

“we don’t always get what we want.”

“i’m in trouble.”

“yeah. might be able to pull a few strings, though. shut a few mouths. edge aint home yet. we got time.”

“...what do you want?”

“what will yer give?”

“i’ve got nothing to give. you and your brother took everything.”

“not everythin’.”

Sans scoffed, laughter bubbling up, “it always comes back to the same damn thing with you. i guess that’s all i am anymore. all i ever was, even if you both insisted on giving it a proper little title and insisting that i don’t call it what it is. you want my body? what’s stopping you from taking it and throwing gifts at me to make it better? my soul? heh. your brother already has that. get in line. oh, oh, maybe you want an heir too. well fuck you both.”

“sans.”

“as long as i don’t call myself a whore out loud it’s okay, isn’t it? as long as i shut my eyes and take it, it’s okay?” Red didn’t respond. “but i guess that’s normal in this world. i’m a weak little fire in a blizzard that is obligated to provide heat to the monsters that feed his flames. you keep me alive...you left my brother alive...you left my half-dusted timeline alone. and the moment i can’t burn hot enough, you will just grind your heel and be done with me.”

“...not quite how that works, sansy.”

“oh? i’m pretty sure the threats you both dished out before the wedding made it obvious.”

“yer not a whore, sans.”

“what else do you call someone who barters with their body?”

“okay, first off, fuck you.” Red laid a hand on Sans’ shoulder and he flinched away, as if burned. He didn’t want to be touched right now, “and second, yer can fuckin’ say no! i’d ask what the hell crawled up yer nose, but i think i already know.”

“of course you do.”

“kids take time when there aint much love to work with,” Sans’ breath caught. “the fact that there was even a glitter of a possibility, and how upset yer got after it didn’t go nowheres...it was promisin’. yer startin’ to have feelings and shit fer my brother and that idiot—”

“don’t lie and say he has feelings for me. i am just here to have an heir and if i can’t provide that…” Sans let out a bitter laugh. 

“come home, sansy.”

“or else what?”

“else yer won’t like the consequences.”

“more threats. cute.”

“yer been lucky. just me an’ the dogs found yer. there’s much, much worse monsters who aint got the memo yet that there’s a new king in charge and shit’s changing...or they don’t care. jus’ cuz exp huntin’ is banned don’t mean it don’t happen no more. this aint yer pansy ass world, sans. yer gonna be happier and safer if yer just come home.”

“home…”

“that’s it. home.”

The air filled with a distinctive whine and stank of ozone. Sans turned empty sockets on Red, who was frozen in place, “don’t do it.”

PING.

BAM!

“fuck!”

Red stood up, shaking off the fact that he’d just been thrown into a wall. The Judge whispered. It condemned. But Sans wasn’t a fighter. So he fled.

Like a twisted game of tag, where Sans ran, Red followed. Sans led him on a merry chase through the gutted remains of the brother’s house in Snowdin. Somebody had lit it aflame then spray painted over the rubble, a protest against the ‘false king’. He wondered if the guilty party were dust now. Then he was at his guard station in Snowdin, then Hotland, then Waterfall. Red cornered him in the wishing room. Sans broke line of sight with a wall of bones and landed himself in the temmie village. He didn’t expect them to look like tiny aristocrats with pointy teeth and velvet jackets, but they were as obsessed with ‘muns’ as ever. Sans was tiring, but he continued onward, slogging through Waterfall, avoiding anyone and everyone he saw, and muttering a curse when he found himself face-first with another of Alphys’ cameras. 

He was contemplating a jump to the Dump when suddenly, a bottle green spear jutted from the ground, crackling like live lightning. Well this situation just got worse. Undyne wasn’t exactly known for her restraint, and she was very much known for her use of green combat magic. For somebody who relied on dodging to stay alive, it was the literal anthethis of Undyne’s “stand your ground or die” approach. 

“HALT IN THE NAME OF THE KING.”

“s-sup captain. water-you doin’?”

Undyne leapt from the ledge she’d been lurking on, a walking terror in full plate armor, “CEASE WITH YOUR STUPID JOKES AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR.”

“so no funny business?” Another green spear crackled to life in her palm. “heh, uh, if we can just chill with the combat magic, pal. m’not lookin’ for a fight.”

“sure ‘bout that sansy?”

Well screw him sideways, two against one. He caught the glimmer of metal. Okay, probably a lot more than that. 

“all this fuss for little ol’ me?” 

“YOU WILL RETURN TO THE CASTLE WITH US AS YOUR ESCORT,” Undyne growled, before adding with a sneer, “YOUR MAJESTY.”

Right. Because that title was worthless. He was a prisoner with a fancy name, “can’t a guy go for a walk?” Undyne moved closer. It was too late if she was involved. Edge would know. No amount of manipulation by Red would hide the fact that Sans got out. And that was fine. He was dead anyway. _sorry paps. i ruined everything, like always. maybe in the next reset, we’ll be together again._ He was resigned to accept his fate, to offer no more fight...until Undyne swiped that spear through his center and turned his soul green. He couldn’t move. FUCK. He couldn’t move! She reached for his hands, evidently planning to cuff him. To make him even more powerless. Helpless. 

He met Red’s eyelights past Undyne’s form.

And he knew.

They both knew.

There was a storm brewing.

“oi, fishbitch, ease up on the green magic.”

“HA! He’ll just escape AGAIN,” Undyne replied, her hand closing on Sans’ wrist.

“sansy, don’t do it.”

“THE HELL ARE YOU GOING ON ABOUT? THIS SOME WEIRD, SKELETON MIND GAME?” She clicked the first cuff into place. He couldn’t move. “Whatever, we’ll get your ass back to the castle where your husband can deal with his little runaway pet.” He couldn’t move. She reached for his other wrist. If she wasn’t careful she could kill him. The Detalrune itched. Live, Edge had told him. Stay alive. Undyne made to put the cuff on his other wrist. He twisted his head around and snapped dull teeth uselessly at Undyne’s hemeted face. 

“woof.” 

Once more the air sang and this time, Sans didn’t hold it back. Undyne swore as she was suddenly thrust back by blue magic and the dark of Waterfall lit up with four, simultaneous blasts of energy. He swayed, sweat now pouring generously off his skull. Undyne staggered and let out a laugh, “THAT’S IT? THAT’S YOUR BEST SHOT? HOW PATHETIC ARE...YOU—?”

She was probably noticing her HP tumbling down, Karma eating away at her soul, turning her sins into poison. 

He couldn’t move. 

Undyne snarled.

He probably had one good attack left in him. Anything less than a boss monster with her LV would have been rendered dust by that first attack and he knew she knew by the look of dawning ire on her face. Goodie. More reasons to add to the list as to why this Undyne didn’t like him. His own just thought he was a lazy, punny gremlin that sheltered his brother too much (hypocrite). 

“EVERYONE STAND DOWN!”

Proverbial chains locked into place, more powerful than even Undyne’s green magic. Sans laughed as Edge entered the scene, armor battered and aura blazing from a recent fight. Wherever he was and whatever he was doing, it was in his warlord persona. And it was Sans’ fault said warlord was torn away from whatever bloodbath he was causing. He watched as guards lowered their weapons, including Undyne. Red remained mutely in place, head down. This was a mess. 

_just kill me, edgelord. i’ve messed up big. broke the rules. humiliated you probably. all without holding up my end of the bargain._

Edge thundered closer until he loomed tall, his shadow swallowing Sans whole.

“HOME. NOW.”

Sans’ shoulders bowed forward from the weight of the quiet command.

“yes m’lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until tomorrow...enjoy your cliffhanger.


	17. Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse.

When the door shut behind Edge, Sans shivered. His weapon was gone, Red’s armor stripped away with brisk professionalism, and all exits to his prison securely locked in every capacity. He remained on the floor where Edge left him, shoeless and quivering from his stint in both Snowdin and Waterfall. He would need a bath soon to chase away the chill or his mild discomfort would become undeniable. Sans swallowed and rubbed his sockets, realizing that the situation he feared from the start might very well come to pass.

Edge didn’t dust him. His blazing aura and burning eyes were the only sign of his ire when he returned Sans to their bedchamber. But his orders were a choke chain of the truest kind. No doubt more would come in the near future when Edge was calmer and figured out the best way to keep him in line. 

_“Until I tell you otherwise, you are not to leave this room except to use the bathing chamber. Food and other necessities will be brought to you.”_

He was a prisoner, trapped and confined.

_”You may not Fall Down or otherwise make an attempt on your life.”_

One that was considered not only a flight risk, but a hazard to himself.

_”All use of hostile magics when you life is not in danger is forbidden.”_

Sans couldn’t be trusted not to attack, like some kind of rabid dog.

_”We will discuss what has occurred when I return. For now, I will not have you loitering in soaked clothes. Within the hour I expect you to take a shower and change into clean attire.”_

The way those gloved hands worked each piece of armor off, like he didn’t want to touch him, like Sans was repulsive. A traitor. 

Sans rose to his feet and made for the bathroom. It wouldn’t do to be defiant and knock himself unconscious. He just didn’t have the strength for defiance anymore.

As hot water poured over his bones, the severity of the situation settled. His phalanges twitched against the tile. His ribs ached. The rules had been simple. Stay out of sight and do what he was told. Now the floundering trust was shattered. No doubt within the week he’d lose all agency with a few words. Maybe he wouldn’t care then. Maybe the Rune would be merciful and not let him keep his awareness when he was rendered a smiling, compliant puppet. Or maybe there was nothing to worry about. Edge would just lop off his head like he was Alice and be done with him. But either would be mercy compared to what could happen. Maybe he’d just keep Sans in his rooms and deign bestow his presence upon Sans to attempt to sire a child. Maybe he wouldn’t even make Sans comfortable anymore, no reason to try to make the marriage part of this whole affair work, not when he could just rip Sans’ soul from his chest with a command. Could a child be conceived that way? Would it be worse if it couldn’t be? 

His thoughts danced with scenarios. From Edge crushing his soul after one too many failures to create a souling. To him taking the child away and condemning Sans to little more than a vessel. He called for his brother, but his brother was dead. And then he was dead. Then nobody was dead but Edge taunted him, told him that he would never see his brother or child again, that he would keep him alive because of duty, but otherwise, he owned him nothing but his life. 

Sans staggered out of the shower and to the sink, where his reflection was fogged over with steam. 

For a bitter moment he hated Papyrus.

For another, he hated the brothers.

His ire then turned to the world.

To the Fates.

And then, collapsed down onto himself.

“i’ve always been nothing but a failure.”


	18. Throw

Edge didn’t return. 

The first day passed much like those before their wedding—in silence, Sans staring at the walls. He isn’t without mental stimulation if he could find the will to walk over to the table. There was a pile of books. A couple of his favorites and the copy of Dune he never really properly began reading. And somehow, his radio found its way into the corner. Somebody must have brought it in when he showered. No maids come in to clean, but eventually, Red opens the door, a bowl in hand. 

“chow time, sansy,” he murmured, voice terribly soft.

“not hungry,” was Sans’ reply.

“just gonna sit on the floor and count the invisible sheep?”

“the stones that make up the wall.”

“ah, so much more entertaining,” Red laid the bowl by Sans and tucked his hands into his pockets. The silence draws thick between them. Red’s never had trouble talking before. He’s always had some smart ass shit to say. It’s telling. Then again, it was half his fault that Sans was in this position. Sans knew he fucked up, but Angel above, if Red didn’t exist, he wouldn’t be having this problem. When neither made an attempt to continue the conversation, Red walked to the corner and flicked on the radio. One of Mettaton’s soaps filled the quiet. “eat up sansy. i’ll be back wit breakfast.” And that was that.

The next day passed in the same fashion. With Red walking in with meals, frowning whenever he arrived to find the last one untouched, Sans unmoving, the same radio station playing, the shadows beneath Sans’ sockets darkening. Come dinner he brought a candy bar. 

“don’t make me feed yer by hand.”

“not hungry.”

“sans, i’m not jokin’. i will force this goddamn chocolate down yer throat.”

“kinky.”

Neither of them laughed.

An explosion of swears erupted from Red’s mouth as he stomped around like a child, outright throwing the candybar at the wall. Then he was gone. Funny. Most of those curses sounded like they were directed at everyone but Sans. 

Day three was marked by Red arriving with a bag from Grillby’s. Hot and fresh. He dropped it on Sans’ lap and flopped on the floor across from him, his eyelights jittery, his aura crackling. When Sans made no motion to open the bag, he lurched forward and grabbed Sans’ collar, “eat. now. boss’ orders.”

Sans’ permanent smile twitched, “too bad he aint here to give me that order himself.”

“well the dumbass may not be here, but i sure as hell am. eat. i even got extra ketchup packets.”

“what? ya expecting me to suck your dick as thanks?”

Red’s eyesockets narrowed as he tightened his grip, “is that yer game? yer want me to force yer into takin’ care of yerself? maybe even force myself on yer fer good measure? get over yerself and eat!”

Sans’ smile softened as he uttered a slightly manic, “no.”

“yer said ya wouldn’t run off, dollface,” Red whispered, hurtling a new subject into sudden focus. “yer said ya wouldn’t make ‘im use the rune on ya. that ya wouldn’t do anythin’ stupid if it put the creampuff in danger.” He laid the bag aside so he could shove Sans onto the floor. Funny. He’d called Edge a physical monster, but Red was as much of one if not moreso. His weight was pleasant, though that was possibly the decrease in oxygen making him giddy. “and y’know, i get why yer ran. that wuz fine. yer needed to get it outta yer system since i could tell yer wuz ready to cross a few wires if yer didn’t see this shithole for what it is. yer needed to see that yer safe in here and mebbe learn to be happy wit whatcher got. none of us are free, but yer don’t gotta spend yer days fightin’ to stay alive like the rest o’ us.”

“you already admitted it was a set up.”

“i fucked up, okay? i admit it.”

“heh. you shoulda made sure i stayed in my cage,” Sans let his head fall back and eyelids flutter shut. “so when’s he gonna do it? or does he wanna get my brother’s dust in a jar first before he makes sure this never happens again? heh. i haven’t seen ‘im in days.”

“...yer really don’t get it, do ya?”

“either go away or do somethin’. i wanna sleep.”

“i could force this burger down your throat.”

“and if you wanted to shove your hand down my pants i couldn’t stop you. there a point to the threats anymore?”

There was no sexual harassment or laughter or talks about Sans being sparky. Red just let go of the collar and got up, slamming the door as he left. The scent of the burger was tempting, but the longer the odor lingered, the more it made Sans’ gut churn. Until soon, any semblance of hunger was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it any consolation to say we're almost out of the woods?


	19. Dizzy

He was content to lay there, nauseated and numb, but Red—confounding, confusing Red—reappeared with a book. It was some children’s fantasy novel judging by the colorful cover with animals and a pointy witch hat and the abundance of sparkles. He then sat down on the edge of the bed and began to read out loud. Sans frowned.

“what are you doing?”

“readin’. now shut yer trap.”

“why here and now, and why that? i thought you were into softcore porn disguised as romance novels? this one seems to have a distinct lack of rosy nipples and turgid manhoods.”

“i got no idea what yer talkin’ ‘bout. and i’ll have yer know i’m researchin’ what humans think about magic. this one has some shit about talkin’ animals called familiars i think. least that’s what i figure by the title.” 

“uh huh,” Sans arched a brow.

Red showed the inside of the book, “see, there’s pictures and shit too. there’s this scruffy cat that reminds me of yer.” Sans didn’t appreciate the comparison when he realized that the first paragraph was about how the cat was hungry.

“fuck off.”

“nope.”

“dude, m’not sure if you realize this. but somehow you have managed to make readin’ a children’s book creepy.”

“if yer got a problem wit it, make me stop then.”

“meh, too much effort.”

“fair.”

.

“sansy?”

Sans groaned as he rolled over.

“shit, did yer fuckin’ sleep on the floor?”

There was a crinkle of a bag.

“an’ yer still haven’t eaten anythin’. fuck. the boss is gonna be pissed.”

Like he wasn’t already.

“get up. it’s only been a couple days. just a lil hunger strike. c’mon.”

Heh. Did Red actually sound worried? Sans curled up more, eyelids shut. His skull throbbed. To be fair, beyond the headache, he didn’t feel much of anything today. Just like he could sleep away his problems until the ax finally fell.

“shit. shit. shit. get up!”

If it mattered so much, Edge would have shown his face and made him eat. 

“get up! i am tryin’ to respect yer boundaries and shit but yer makin’ it hard.”

When Sans remained despondent, Red grabbed the back of his shirt and his collar and hauled him up. Sans swayed. The world spinning. Why was the world spinning? He blinked rapidly, swaying. He was rather...dizzy. The CHECK was expected, though the cursing wasn’t. Sans tried to speak but the words snagged in his throat. He tried to push Red away but as he took a step, he lost all sense of direction, and the floor rose to greet him.

Before impact, all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all weren't here for consistent chapter length.


	20. Coral

_”what do you got there, bro?”_

_Papyrus looked up from the box he was unpacking, the heavy velvet mantel swallowing his lean form. “OH, HELLO! JUST A BOOK.” He was wearing his battle body underneath, but who was to tell the newly crowned king that his vibrant boots, gloves and scarf clashed the royal purple? Certainly not Sans. Guests at the skeleton brother’s home called their decor garish, which suited the ‘wacky bros’ just fine. Heh. But he supposed those days were at an end. Image mattered more now. A king was to look like a king._

_Sans idled by his brother and peered inside the box. It was full of books and figurines. Little green army men mingled with well-loved superheros with missing limbs. They were treasures. Each one collected from the Dump over the years for some holiday or another. Beneath them were the covers of Advanced Practical Puzzle Theory and 101 Fairy Tales for Children. Papyrus hesitated, fidgeting with the book in his hands for a moment, before holding it out for Sans to see._

_”fluffy bunny goes to the beach,” Sans read aloud. “heh. man. i forgot we had this one.”_

_”INDEED. I WILL CONFESS THE WRITING IS NOT AS INSPIRED AS FLUFFY BUNNY SAVES THE DAY, BUT THE PICTURES ARE...REALLY NICE.”_

_There is strain in his voice, a waver to his usual confidence. He opened the book and stared, flipping through the pages in silence, a troubled yearning in his gaze. It wasn’t hard to understand why. The pages were full of pretty white sand and blue water, the sun a welcoming yellow in the vast, pale sky. They were all so close to seeing the sun. Now? Now they were further away than ever. No human souls meant they were seven away from Papyrus driving a shiny red car, the wind blowing through his hair. Papyrus flipped another page. Fluffy Bunny went snorkeling and before them was a rainbow of fish and coral. Finding trash floating in the rivers of Waterfall certainly couldn’t compare._

_”SANS. I KNOW I AM KING AND ALL BUT—”_

_”don’t worry bud, just cuz you’re king doesn’t mean i won’t read you a bedtime story.”_

_Papyrus closed the book and laid it to the side, gently, with the same delicate care he gave his puzzles and traps and the people who let him love them, ”...I HOPE KING ASGORE COMES BACK FROM VACATION SOON. THE CASTLE IS...BIG.”_

_”...same. but until he does, everybody is looking up to you.”_

_”EVERYBODY?” Papyrus looked up._

_Sans laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “everybody. even me. you’re the best paps. and don’t worry, i’ll be here if you need me, no matter how popular you become.”_

_He should have expected the hug. He lost track of how long they knelt there in the middle of the room, clinging to each other and what remained of the life they had before the human changed it all. More than King and Judge, they were brothers, and nothing short of death could separate them._

_Or so they thought…_

.

_”Do you think it’s real?”_

_”what?”_

_Papyrus laid on his back, gaze fixed on the canopy above him. It was a strange thing, to even be in the presence of a bed this big. Sans missed his bare mattress already and dreaded going back to ‘his room’ in this drafty castle. Laying down Fluffy Bunny Goes to the Beach, he leaned back, eyelights drifting to his brother’s worried expression. The shadows underneath his sockets were troubling. Stars, Sans already felt like a failure and it had only been a couple days since Papyrus’ hasty coronation._

_”The surface.”_

_”what? of course it’s real. that’s where all the stuff in the dump comes from.” Where the humans came from._

_Papyrus fussed with the coverlet, “But what if it isn’t?”_

_What if all that existed was their small little world and all that came into were at the whims of some petty god? Yeah, he’d considered it. But even the nihilist in him couldn’t quite push away the pure assuredness that the surface was real and that the sun on his bones was warm and—Sans blinked away a not-quite-memory._

_”gettin’ real metaphysical here on me, bro,” Sans swallowed. “ol’ gerson and grillbyz can tell ya that the surface is real. they fought in the war. they...they know what it was like before.”_

_”But what if theY only think they remember the surface? What if—”_

_”even if this is all there is and ever was, gettin’ to the surface someday is all the reason some folk have to hold on another day.”_

_They fell silent. After a minute, Sans bid Papyrus goodnight and stood, only to be stopped by Papyrus grabbing his arm, “Stay! I...The bulb in my nightlight went out.” It was a shallow excuse to not be alone. Papyrus hadn’t been afraid of the dark since he was knee high. But Sans didn’t argue. Not that he could if he wanted to. The Deltarune itched from the careless command. A reminder of how truely alien their lives had become. Sans crawled beside his brother and for the first time in years, they fell asleep that way, adrift with only each other as an anchor._

.

_Fluffy Bunny Goes to the Beach found itself tucked into a box and put away, along with Papyrus’ car magazines and toy soldiers. Sans was surprised when the requests for a bedtime story became infrequent and even more so when he found the box while looking for a specific book while researching. Papyrus did his best to be a good king. He studied what Sans gave him related to politics and law, gave inspiring speeches and kept the moral of his people from dropping. But, he realized, there was no mentions of breaking the barrier. No talk of humans or souls or the surface._

_Sans couldn’t blame him._

_Going to the surface, feeling the sun on their bones, was just another childish fantasy. They were never getting out. They were never going to be free. They would die down here._

_Unless, of course, everything RESET._

_Nothing mattered. Papyrus’ loss of whimsy and innocence didn’t matter. The slow death of monsterkind didn’t matter. Yet here Sans was...putting one foot in front of the other. Because while nothing mattered in the end. Papyrus mattered now. And this, right now, was their reality._

.

“HE’S WAKING UP!”

Memories scattered like leaves dropped into the abyss. Sans groaned, unwilling to open his sockets just yet. Had he fallen asleep at his Waterfall station? Was that why Undyne was yelling? If so, why didn’t she just dump water on him like normal? Sans lifted his head. Whelp. First things first, he was on his back, so that crossed out the ‘asleep at his station’ scenario. Secondly, the air was notably dry and warm. Damn, he must have fucked up big if Undyne was harassing him in Hotland. At last, he forced open his eyes and sat up, blinking through the fog.

Immediately, all doziness fled. 

He was in the labs. 

Not only was he in the labs, but he was on one of the fucking tables with a machine hooked to his arm and he needed out of here before—

“WOAH! CHILL OUT! ALPH! YOUR PATIENT IS HAVING AN EPISODE AND I AM NOT DEALING WITH THIS BULLSHIT TWICE IN ONE DAY.”

“You should b-b-be resting t-t-too you know, you s-s-stupid bitch.”

Sans regained himself and stared at the two parodies of people he knew and remembered that he wasn’t in Kansas anymore. He was in an alternate hellverse, married to their edgelord king, aaaaaaand had probably just signed his own brother’s death warrant. And in this universe, Undyne had far more scars and enough LV to make him nervous by standing too close, and Alphys wore some odd, swirly-lensed glasses and sounded like she had half a spine more than usual. 

Alphys took his confused silence as an opportunity to close the distance between them to poke and prod. She then checked her machines. 

“You’re on a regiment of m-m-magic and m-m-mood stabilizers,” Alphys stated as she tapped at a keyboard. “For a one hp m-m-monster you’re surprisingly hardy. By all accounts you should have f-f-fallen by now.” She adjusted her glasses. “I’m g-g-going to up your d-d-dosage of mood stabilizers as it appears your lapse in c-c-consciousness was caused by m-m-magic fatigue and stress.”

“i’m to be drugged now?”

Undyne snorted and Alphys snickered, “Your husband t-t-turned down my very generous offer of tranquilizers and aphrodisiacs. I’m just stabilizing the erratic wavelength your soul has been producing.”

“YEAH. SHE’S A FUCKIN’ EXPERT AT ALL THAT SCIENCY SOUL SHIT. SO DON’T TALK SMACK ABOUT HER, GOT IT?”

Alphys’ cheeks took on an orange flush and she discreetly wiped her nose with a handkerchief, “Y-y-yes, well, Undyne is correct in that I am the resident expert on the subject. M-m-my experiments have garnered me a great deal of experience in that area of research.” She adjusted her glasses again. “T-t-though his majesty does prefer I focus on engineering and robotics these days for...ethical reasons.”

It was eerie seeing Alphys with LV. Hearing the corruption in the nostalgic way she spoke of her research. 

“D-d-don’t worry. The stabilizers are perfectly safe and t-t-tested for efficacy and side effects. Expect odd dreams and some instability with forming m-m-magic constructs for about a week or s-so.” Undyne puffed with pride as Alphys spoke, clearly besotted with the scientist. That said, she was being oddly...nice considering the circumstances. He expected more threats and death glares for attacking her and making a scene.

“SO HOW LONG BEFORE HIS HUSBAND CAN DRAG HIS BONEY ASS BACK UPSTAIRS?” Undyne asked. “HE’S AWAKE AND KNOWING PAPYRUS, HE’S CLIMBING THE WALLS AND CHEWING THE LEGS OFF TABLES AND THE HEADS OFF UNFORTUNATE GUARDS.”

Alphys sniffed as she checked the machine again, “Morning. I would like t-t-to observe the prince consort overnight.”

“AIGHT. I’LL TEXT PAPS. BECAUSE I AM NOT LEAVING YOU ALONE WITH HIM,” she pointed a finger right between Sans’ sockets. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IT WAS YOU DID, BUT THE OTHER SANS CAN DO IT TOO AND THAT SHIT’S A NASTY SURPRISE.” Undyne shuddered, “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to have that kind of...power. Since you’re supposed to be a pansy ass weakling punk!”

Well that was almost flattering.

“does this mean you hate me or not?”

Undyne scoffed and Alphys giggled, “It was k-k-kinda sexy watching the fight on the c-c-cameras.”

“You’re such a whore,” Undyne sassed. Alphys made a show of fanning herself. “I still think your taste in men is terrible. I mean, Sans? BOTH OF THEM? EW! Have some standards babe.”

“you like red—er...the other sans?”

“Tch. No! I just w-w-wouldn’t mind if he said he wanted to p-p-play doctor,” Alphys replied, her flush deepening. Well this was a surreal conversation. Undyne gagged as she typed away on her phone. The lack of glaring was a pleasant change, however. “Speaking of...Undyne...if you d-d-don’t lay back d-d-down I will tranq you into next week.”

Sans rubbed his face as they bickered. He didn’t hurt. In fact, he felt wonderfully muzzy, like living jello. Warm, jiggly, wiggly jello. Or flan. Was flan jiggly? Flan looked like it would be jiggly. He laid back and yawned. There were worse ways to wait for one’s proverbial—or possibly literal—future execution.


	21. Sleep

_Bloodied hands reached through the darkness. Fresh, bright and gleaming—drops dripped from clawed fingertips. Those hands closed around Sans soul. Caged it. Tightened and curled until he crushed between phantom fingers and slipped into the void as shimmering dust.But no, he was alive. Soul crushed and gone but he still stood in the abyss. The hands unfurled to reveal jagged holes ripped in each palm. The void rippled within them, like portals to the deepest pits of oblivion._

_**”You will never be in control."** _

Sans jackknifed awake, the scent of ozone thick on the air, his bones cold and damp. He was...he was in bed? As he registered his change in setting, there were a series of thumps and the door slammed open. There, in the doorway, illuminated by Sans’ distressed Glow, was Edge. Hellfire eyelights were dim and feline sharp, and the blue cast of the light muted the crimson shine. Edge sighed and slowly, very slowly, approached Sans. Wordless as he accessed the room. It had been a while since Sans experienced this kind of magic overflow, his nightmares (strangely) less intense since he married Edge, and thus he’d never caused this kind of damage while asleep. The bedside tables were flipped and one of the tapestries torn. Edge’s phalanges traced the edge of what looked like a scorch mark on the wall before he moved to stand at the foot of the bed.

He leaned forward, still silent, and brushed Sans’ face with his thumb, before tilting Sans’ chin up. 

“What do you need?” Edge asked. 

“nothing,” Sans replied. _Nothing from you._

Edge leaned back and retreated to the bathroom. Sans listened to him turn on the sink. Watched him return with a glass of water. He gave no command. Sans didn’t have any fight left in him. He took the cup and tilted it back, swallowing down the contents in a few gulps. 

“you’re such a bastard,” Sans muttered, no heat in his voice. 

“I can do no right by you it seems,” Edge took the cup and righted the nightstand. “But now is not the time to discuss such things. Now is the time for you to sleep. You...haven’t been well.”

“just do it.”

“Pardon?”

“stop holding me over the edge, making me wait for the other shoe to drop. just...punish me or kill me or—”

Edge took his hand, held it like something precious until Sans looked away, mute in the wake of his own weakness. The kiss on his knuckles was such a quaint, gentlemanly gesture. “I am sorry. I know apologetic platitudes cannot mend what has been broken, nor can I claim to deserve your forgiveness.” He sat down on the edge of the mattress, his weight tipping Sans closer. “But I am not so arrogant to never think I could be in the wrong.”

“stop it.”

“Sans—”

He closed his sockets, their hands still tangled together, “i don’t understand why you keep stringing me along like this. i haven’t given you an heir. i ran off. i humiliated you in front of the guards. what use am i now? what use was i ever?” Edge pressed an unexpected kiss to Sans’ skull.

“You should rest.”

“no.”

“Sans—”

“make me.”

“You are being obstinate for no reason,” Edge didn’t move. “What is it that you require to return to sleep?”

“i...i don’t know.”

“A story perhaps? I do recall my brother reading to me as a child…”

“i’m not a child.”

“No. But you are my husband.”

Sans laughed. It was distressing and manic, “i’m your whore and your prisoner. might as well drop the title if we’re havin’ a heart-to-heart.” He grasped Edge’s wrist and dug his phalanges in. Pain shot through the Rune in response. Heh. 

“Stop hurting yourself,” Edge caught both Sans’ wrists. “I...I wish I didn’t have to make that an order.”

“i’ll stop if you call me a whore.”

Edge breathed in deeply, “no.”

“say it. it’s the truth. just say it.”

“...You’re crying.”

“why won’t you just say it?” Strong arms pulled Sans onto Edge’s lap, to his chest, and for a bittersweet moment, their souls rang in harmony. Sans clawed at his unwanted husband’s shirt.

“There once was a bunny named Fluffy who lived in a house on a hill. There was clover aplenty and dandelions too—” 

“—for her to eat every summer.”

Edge paused, adjusted his hold and continued. His voice was low and warm. Had he memorized his childhood story? The low timbre of his voice rolled ever onward and if he closed his eyes, Sans could almost picture himself in Papyrus’ bedroom, perched on a chair by his little brother’s race car bed. As the tale came to a close, the fantasy faded, unforgiving reality digging its fangs back in. 

“Sleep, Sans. Sleep knowing that your brother is alive and well. I believe that you’ve punished yourself enough for running away and deserve to rest. We can talk more when you are well.”

“how can i believe you? why can’t i see him?”

“...The treaty...Once you conceive an heir, the conditions will be met for him to visit. Upon the child’s birth, you may visit him. Cross universe phone calls are a technology Alphys has yet to invent, I am afraid.”

“...papyrus knows about the heir thing?”

“Indeed.”

Sans isn’t sure how long they sat there in silence before he fell once more into a light and troubled sleep, his dreams haunted by his brother’s face and voice he couldn’t quite name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we seeing an upswing? Why yes. Yes we are.


	22. Chef

When Sans woke, it was to a deep, undeniable hunger. It gnawed and howled and demanded, reminding him that it had been days since he last ate. Driven by said hunger, Sans swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and breathed in deeply, the air thick with the smell of food. He shuffled to the door and hesitated, uncertain if the order to stay within these walls was still in place. But worries were punted aside by Red poking his head in and grinning, “well good afternoon sleepin’ beauty. yer look like shit warmed over.”

“charming,” Sans deadpanned. “you always know just what to say to make a girl feel pretty.”

“just call me don juan. now c’mon, i can hear yer stomach growling.”

“that’s impressive considerin’ i don’t have a stomach.”

Sans trailed after Red, his head foggy, his body heavy, but the deep, crushing weight of the past week no longer bearing down on him. He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t despairing either. Aside from hunger, he didn’t feel much at all. Settling at the table, it at last registered how much food laid out before him. What in God's name? Red hopped into a chair beside him.

“bone-appetit, sansy.”

“uh, kudos to the chef, but why is there so much?”

Red pulled a pan of lasagna to him and shoveled a generous portion onto his own plate, “because the boss cooks when he’s stressed. he’s been at this since last night, and prolly won't quit until he sees yer all fed up.” He pulled a bottle of mustard from his inventory and slathered it on top. Sans had to admit, the spread looked good. There was a generous amount of italian food—a nostalgic pang yanked at his ribs—and an assortment of desserts and soups. What caught his eye was a dish that stood out from the rest as especially...unappetizing in the most brutally familiar way. Sans pulled it closer.

There in all its glitter and burnt noodles glory was Papyrus’ signature spaghetti. He took a hesitant bite. Stars! It was awful. Crunchy and squishy and salty all at once. It tasted like it had been set on fire at some point before somebody tried to salvage it with sequins and sprinkles. It was a colorful, texture riddled nightmare. 

Sans took another bite.

The intent hit him like a boulder to the skull. It tasted like Papyrus’ cooking, but it didn’t wash over him like honey and sweetness. Nor did it smother away his breath with sheer, brotherly affection, filled to the brim with hopes for a brighter future. Instead it was spicy and sharp and dare he say it ‘edged’ with concern. It was a demand to heal, to thrive. It was an oath in itself—to mend all of Sans’ hurts. Forgive me—it begged on a bent knee, helmet thrown aside, head bowed with humility. 

“heh. bastard’s gotta gift,” Red murmured, breaking Sans from his swarming thoughts. “taught him ever’thin’ i knew when we got that house in snowdin. which was jack all tibia-honest. course i wuz better at followin’ a cookbook, but the lil shit learned to not burn ever’thin’ to a crisp after a while. eventually, he took over.” Red fiddled with the fork in his hand. “he wuz just barely outta stripes too. heh. but i wuz a mess an’ one of us had to have their shit together. now here we are.” His gold tooth glittered as the corner of his mouth twisted. Edge mentioned Red having a drinking problem until he literally kicked the habit out of him. How old was he when that happened? Eighteen? Sixteen? Fourteen? Papyrus had been taller than most monsters by the time he was old enough that Sans stopped putting him in stripes—hell, he looked like a grown ass adult by then if he was honest. No doubt Edge was the same. All long, lanky bones and impressive stats.

“i was never much of a cook,” Sans replied just as quietly. “woulda been happy livin’ out of vending machines and on burgz. but paps was so picky. he’d only eat pasta. heh. then he started cooking lessons with undyne.” Super secret guard training, she called it. They both knew it was to protect him. Papyrus was tough. He was certainly good enough to join the guard. But he was too nice. Too innocent. She sheltered him...Just like Sans. Neither of them really protected him in the end, did they? “and he was so determined to make the perfect spaghetti that he stopped cooking anything else. i got a recipe for a quiche, had a good day, cooked it...and you know what he did? called it a strange egg pie and refused to eat it.” Sans chuckled, but his laughter was damp. 

“fer a guy wit a lotta practice makin’ noodles, how the hell did he stay so damn bad at it?” Red asked. 

“...i was about to ask...this is my brother’s recipe—how?”

“I asked.”

Edge stepped into the room, holding yet more food. His face was smudged with flour and his apron stained with sauces. There was nothing regal or royal about him, back slightly bent, exhaustion plain on his face. He laid the trays down and pulled a scrap of paper from his back pocket. Sans took the proffered note and opened it.

_DEAR BROTHER,_   
_I HAVE MUCH I WISH TO SAY BUT SO LITTLE TIME, AS MY OTHER SELF HAS INFORMED ME THAT HE CANNOT LINGER FOR LONG. REST ASSURED THAT I AM IN GOOD HEALTH, THOUGH I WILL ADMIT IT IS HARDER TO FIND TIME TO EAT AND REST WITH YOU GONE. WE HAVE MANAGED TO RESTORE POWER TO ALL OF THE UNDERGROUND!!! AND PROGRESS ON OTHER CIVIL PROJECTS IS BEING MADE. THE CENSUS RESULTS HAVE COME IN AND, WELL...I DO HOPE THAT EVERYONE WHO IS ON VACATION REMEMBERS TO FILL OUT A FORM WHEN THEY COME BACK._

_IT WAS A GREAT SURPRISE TO RECEIVE A VISIT FROM OTHER ME. HE SAID YOU WERE FEELING UNWELL AND ASKED IF THERE WAS ANYTHING THAT WOULD CHEER YOU UP. I, OF COURSE, GAVE HIM THE BEST BROTHERLY ADVICE I COULD OFFER AND WILL BE SENDING HIM HOME WITH A FEW THINGS FOR YOU._

_OH HE IS TAPPING HIS FOOT AND LOOKING ALL BROODY. I DON’T HAVE MUCH LONGER TO WRITE THIS. BUT KNOW THAT I MISS YOU, SANS, AND HOPE THAT ONE DAY WE CAN SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN. I HOPE THEY ARE TREATING YOU WELL AND THAT YOU CAN FORGIVE ME. I KNOW WE DID NOT PART ON THE BEST OF TERMS. BUT I WILL PERSEVERE AS ALWAYS!_

_MUCH LOVE,_   
_THE GREAT PAPYRUS_

Tears welled up in Sans’ sockets. Papyrus was alive and well. He swallowed, laid down the note and took another bite of food. It was enough. When there was so little to cling to, to hope for, even tiny scraps of promise like this was angel sent. 

“Sans?”

“hm?” he peered at Edge, who hovered nearby, fidgeting.

“I wish to offer the assurance that no harm will come to your brother by my hand,” Edge laid a hand over his soul. “Regardless of whether or not you ever give me an heir, or if in the future, we have another of these...incidences.” 

Sans stilled, “why? that is your greatest leverage against me.”

“...Perhaps I wish to proceed forward without...leverage...Unless you found our prior arrangement that distasteful…”

Choices. Choices. Always with choices and paths. They were at those forks in the road again. And well, Sans was tired and a little giddy if he was honest. Maybe it was the drugs Alphys dosed him on to keep his soul in check. Or maybe it was the sheer force of the intent he kept shoveling into his mouth. But if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t Edge himself he found issue with. Wholly apart from roles of king and judge, they were...compatible in bed. A touch of shame welled up again. _whore. you’re willing to jump back into bed with him just like that?_ Sans pushed down the guilt. 

“what are the consequences of not giving you an heir then?” Sans asked, stabbing his fork into the noodles. “or ruining your reputation again?”

Edge leaned against the table, “My reputation has endured worse than a rebellious consort. Your fight with Undyne was actually a surprisingly beneficial affair.”

“accordin’ to the grapevine, messin’ wit yer is lookin’ fer a bad time.”

“Which should alleviate some assassination attempts.”

“boss didn’t come out lookin’ weak but rather, yer ended up lookin’ sneaky and strong. good for morale. we wuz worried there for a while, but...it worked out. heh. got lucky this time around.” There was a hidden ‘just don’t do it again’ in Red’s nonchalant tone. 

“you never did answer my question.”

“...I am not going to dust your brother or physically harm you in retaliation, Sans.” When Sans flicked his eyelights to Red, Edge huffed. “As much as you two are similar, you are not the same. Unless you can say you would react in a positive fashion to corporal punishment.” This time, Sans just gave Red a narrow look. The other skeleton just leered and pulled on his collar, mouthing ‘harder daddy’ as he did so. His hand shot to his own collar and to his embarrassment, a rather lurid image arose to mind, Edge holding him down, pulling the collar taut, making him cry and beg and—

 _down boy, how many times do i have to say you don’t get an opinion?_

Maybe that woodpolish he drank on their wedding night knocked a few more screws loose than he initially thought.

Red waggled his brows knowingly. Busted.

“Sans?”

“care to share wit the class whatcher thinkin’ ‘bout? must be good fer yer to be that shade of blue.”

Sans flipped him the bird, and looked at Edge again, that lightness still lingering. He wasn’t Papyrus, he didn’t have an unwavering belief that everyone could be a good person. But Edge was trying. And since their vows had a death-till-you part clause that he was taking very seriously, there weren’t a lot of options beyond making things work. But maybe...maybe they could find new footing. 

“...i can’t go back to how things were before,” Sans confessed. “...but i’m willing to try to figure out...us…”

Red, in all his maturity, made a gagging noise.

“I’d like that,” Edge replied.

And for a moment, the future looked just a touch brighter.


	23. Rip

The days trickled by in a peaceful lull. Edge had to leave during the day, but he was home every evening, usually toting some little trinket or another. Sans would say it was as if nothing had happened. Like he never ran off. Never broke down. But that would be a lie. There was a tension to the quiet. An uncertainty that wasn’t there before. Edge and he spoke more, though none of it was substantial if he was honest. Oh, he understood what Edge meant when the other went into logistics and budgets—skirting around some of this universes more hostile methods of administration—but it wasn’t exactly engaging conversation. Sans would talk about his day—the books he read, the frankenstein of a machine he was building with scrap parts, how he ‘accidentally’ knocked a glass of water on Red’s lap. It was all terribly restrained and polite. Even Red was being cautious. Never going further than innuendo and a little tug on his collar. 

And it was driving Sans batty in a whole different way.

Before his breakdown, Edge would touch him, kiss him, hold him while they slept. Red would flirt and push and leave Sans feeling drunk on desire. Now? Every touch was platonic. The closest he came to an emotional high in the past week was when he ate food Edge cooked. 

_Whore._ He shook away the intrusive thought. Refused to let it take root. This was what anyone in his situation would want...right? For his husband to keep his hands to himself, no expectations given, while he indulged in the various gifts Edge brought to make him happy. Hell, there was even talk of Sans having free reign to roam the castle in the future, once certain matters were resolved. Apparently there was a rebellion outside the walls Edge had been trying to quash. 

But the longer that time went by and they didn’t return to ‘normal’, the more Sans found himself agitated. A yearning for intimacy scratching up his spine. Whereas before he wanted Edge to kiss him outside of sex, now he just wanted somebody—he’d settle for Red at this point—to touch him. To hold his hand like they were goddamned middle schoolers if nothing else! 

“what did the toaster do to yer?” Sans’ head snapped up at Red’s drawl. The other was in his leather jacket and looming like a creep, as per usual, head cocked to one side with undisguised interest. “if looks could kill, it’d be _toast_.”

“pal, that was bad even for you.”

Red shrugged, “they can’t all be winners. now what’s got yer _heated_?”

Sans poked the appliance he'd been ripping apart with a screwdriver a few times before giving up and pushing to his feet, “just thinkin’ ‘bout stuff.”

“aint seen yer this pissy in a while. gotta be sumthin’ spicy.”

Before he could sass back, Sans caught himself, realizing that there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t be ammo for the other. 

“ooooh, yer lookin’ all blue-faced again,” Red jeered, sitting in Sans’ reading chair and patting his lap. “come tell daddy all about it.” This was Sans’ cue to say something smart and walk off. That was how this song and dance was supposed to go. But that itch wouldn’t leave and he was crabby enough to not care if this was a misstep or not. He closed the distance between them in two steps and straddled Red’s lap, hands on either side of his alternate’s head. Hellfire eyelights shrank and smouldered like the cherries of half-burnt cigarettes. “hello, dollface. need sumthin’?” His hands stayed stubbornly on the cushion, pointed phalange-tips digging into the fabric. 

Admirable as self-restraint was for Red, that wasn’t what Sans wanted.

He wanted—

_whore_

—Edge.

Fuck.

The consternation he felt must have shown on his face, because Red began to chuckle, “aw, babe, i can get yer off if that’s whatever after. but i ‘ave a suspicion it aint me yer want pullin’ yer choke chain and makin’ yer scream fer it harder.”

“dude. do you always have to run your mouth?”

“unless yer plan on shuttin’ me up the fun way, i’m gonna say whatever i damn well please, yer majesty. fess up. yer into it. a lil dirty talk gets yer all hot-and-bothered.” Red at last grasped Sans’ hips and tugged him down so that Sans knelt on his lap, pelvis-to-pelvis, chest-to-chest. Red gave a low noise that sounded like something between a motor starting and a moan. It did feel nice. Well, up until Red licked the side of his face like a fuckin’ weirdo! Sans shoved his skull to the side like an ornery cat that didn’t feel like being groomed and settled himself on Red’s lap, making himself comfortable, enjoying the friction a little too much perhaps. Red gave another soft noise. Pervert. 

Sans isn’t quite sure what drives him to do it, to wrap his hands around Red’s collar and pull. If he closes his eyes he can feel him—Edge—his magic alive and electric, demanding and protective. 

“tighter. c’mon, sansy, tighter,” Red’s hands are gentle but insistent on Sans’ hips. 

Sans obeys. 

There was a fine line they were dancing on. Even Sans knew these games had rules and boundaries and special words. But Red was beautiful with his head thrown back, the collar pulled taut.

“tighter.”

“no.”

Red squirmed and gave a ragged gasp, “fuck.”

Sans magic stirred with interest. Arousal hot and liquid as it settled low on his spine. It would be easy to form his magic and satiate this growing physical need. But then he felt warmth in his chest and realized he was Glowing. He shoved himself off Red’s lap and landed on the floor with a THUMP.

“the fuck...oh,” Red stared, fixated on the light shimmering through Sans’ clothes. “that worked up already, eh?” He adjusted himself, a little less than discrete about the fact he most certainly had something in his pants in need of adjusting. “...i won’t touch if yer don’t want me too...i can be real careful…” He slumped in the chair, “awe, who am i kiddin’? i aint who yer all glowy fer.” His gaze lingered with a trace of hunger. “damn boss is a lucky bastard. mebbe you’ll change yer mind one day. heh...not that i’d deserve it if yer did.” Noticing Sans’ narrowed sockets, he pulled an Uno Reverse Card and flipped him the bird. “and if yer tell anybody i’ll rip yer spine through yer mouth.”

“course you will,” Sans stood and tried to banish the heat from his bones. “anyway, like you told me when we met, first kid is his.”

Red sat up straighter, “...yeah…hey sansy, didn’t figure the subject would come up...well, ever...but is that sumthin’ yer actually want?”

“just now asking that?”

“tch. hey, yer the one that tried to dust yerself cuz yer didn’t think yer could have a kid.”

“as far as i knew, my life and my brother’s life were resting on me having one!”

“whaddabout now?”

“...i want to see my brother again before—” 

“heh. the creampuff is fine. we’re workin’ on settin’ up a system so yer two can exchange letters or text or sumthin’. there aint any need to rush the kid thing if yer don’t want—”

“red. shut up.” His alternate’s browbones arched as Sans motioned to his still glowing soul. “i’m...up for the task. tibia-honest, when edge and i agreed to change how things were, i wasn’t expecting us to stop trying for a souling.”

Red blinked then began to howl with laughter, “oh stars! that moron! yer mean yer all wound up becuz yer hubby won’t bone ya? buddy, pal...just do what yer did to me. sit on that asshole’s lap until he gives yer whatcher want.” He continued to cackle. Note to self, never tell Red about his sex life...ever. “hehe. bet he’ll try to give it to ya all sweet and slow too. but that aint what yer want now is it? mebbe yer lookin’ fer some ‘corporal punishment’ before he fucks the shame outta yer thick skull.” His smile twisted as Sans looked away. “ha! called it.”

“whatever. i’m ignoring you now.”

“awe, sweetheart, c’mon, don’t be that way.”

“y’know i think i liked you better when you actually pretended to have manners.”

“naw, yer don’t, or yer wouldn’t still be here listenin’.” Sans began to walk away. “he’ll do it, y’know...if yer ask. yer prolly won’t, because yer stupid like me, but he knows how to make it hurt so good without budgin’ yer hp a decimal.” Red stood, his sneakers squeaking on stone. “it might even make the voices shut the fuck up and leave yer alone for a while.” He passed by without a backwards glance, vanishing once he broke line of sight. 

They didn’t have their self-defence lesson that day.


	24. Dig

Another week crawled by. 

Edge continued to bring gifts and food, their routine stilted and platonic, though after some cajoling, Edge did at least come to bed to sleep a few nights. Apparently the taller skeleton found time to sneak off even then, because one morning Sans woke to find another letter from Papyrus on the bedside table and some paper to compose a reply back. It was all so very fine and dandy…

“As impressive as willing your medication out of existence would be, I believe it is more effective when actually taken as prescribed.”

Sans blinked out of his wandering thoughts during yet another ‘normal’ morning. Edge was already dressed (or more accurately, hadn’t changed out of yesterday’s clothes since he didn’t sleep) and stood in the doorway, arms crossed, head tilted with interest. Sans shook the pill bottle. Special little magic tablets to keep his energy up and his emotions stable. Side effects: weird dreams, restlessness and increased libido. Though he likely couldn’t place full blame on the pills. Not feeling like hot garbage gave a monster all kinds of weird urges, like cleaning to burn some of the excess energy and actually looking forward to self-defence lessons. 

His head was still fucked up—but what was new?—however, it was easier to remain...calm. The lows were less treacherous, though it was also harder to, well, feel. Anger, happiness, sadness—medication didn’t discriminate, it just leveled them all out. Made the bad moments easier to cope with. If Paps was around, he’d probably tell Sans to see a therapist (again), but Sans would rather steer clear of doctors, not that this universe seemed like the kind to have much interest in shrinks. Kill or be killed, not a lot of room for coping with the aftermath when you’re focused on staying alive every day and hardening your soul with LV. 

With a shrug, he rattled a tablet onto his palm and knocked it back. It dissolved into his magic and left his manalines humming. 

“satisfied?”

“For now,” Edge pushed from the doorframe. “You have an appointment with Alphys in two weeks to determine if an adjustment is needed.”

Sans stared down at the little orange bottle. He had the sudden, intrusive urge to throw it at the wall Red had with the candybar. He refrained, instead curling his phalanges around it until plastic creaked. “okay.” He forced himself to set it back down on the nightstand. 

“...Have I upset you?” So careful. Edge was being so. damn. careful. 

“just not thrilled about another field trip to the labs, is all,” Sans gave him a smile. This was where he was supposed to open up and confess his feelings, tell Edge everything until they have a real, chummy soul-to-soul, maybe cry a little. He went to the bathroom instead, grabbing the clothes Edge already had laid out for him on the way there. But as his hand touched the door, he found himself not wanting to close it all the way. So he didn’t. He left it halfway open like he hadn’t a care in the world, and turned on the shower. He swallowed. “hey, edge?”

A pause. Then footsteps. He didn’t come in, “Yes? Need something?”

 _You_ , a decidedly horny part of his nonexistent brain suggested lavisciously, sounding exactly like Red. Sans pulled his shirt off. His soul beat a little faster as his shorts pooled on the tile. “i could…” he cleared his throat. “i could use a hand. ya know, washing my back. kinda hard to reach by yourself.” This was where Edge would come in and they’d be a little awkward for a bit, then somebody would get handsy and then they’d fuck in the shower. Sans would have an itch scratched and they could stop this dancing around each other's business. He was shit with emotions, especially his own, but he really did miss the intimacy. After that first night together, he never had an issue ‘getting it up’ for Edge. 

But of course, nothing could be simple.

“Ah, ahem, there is a plastic device hanging from the side of the shower. That is a back washer wand. All you need to do is affix the loofa to it for all your difficult to reach needs.”

“oh...thanks, pal.”

Sans spent the next half hour sitting on the floor of the shower, skull against the wall, steaming water pouring over him. He didn’t really think much. Just lazed in the heat. Edge’s subtle rejection left him itchy all over. It’d be a lie to say he didn’t try touching himself, but each time he snuck his hands across his bones, a pang of worthlessness overtook any arousal. Fuck. Fuckitty fuck fuck. He muttered a few more choice swears before shutting off the water and facing the day.

He took out his emotions on his growing hoard of electronics. The TV and VCR both now functioned and he played some human movie about a skeleton that wanted to be santa clause...or something like that. He wasn’t really paying attention. It was background noise as he worked on an Audible Warning Trap...aka, the Fartmaster 2.0. Typically, devices like these were used as alarms to spook trespassers or signal to a trap setter that there was an individual in their puzzle zone. Sans’ inner six year old found fart jokes the peak of comedy. It was why he had a stash of whoopie cushions back home. 

A few hours later, his modified toaster was ready for action. He set up the trip line, adjusted the radio settings and waited. 

However, Red wasn’t alone when he returned to the antechamber. Edge was with him, carrying a tray of pasta. More stress cooking? Sans nudged the toaster under the chair. “sup, whatcha both doin’ here? undyne ban you from work again?”

“No. I, ah, made time.”

“oh.”

“oh is right,” Red jeered.

“that doesn’t make sense.”

Red shrugged and flopped into Edge’s usual seat, earning a narrow look from his brother, which he responded to with a smile. So much said with no words at all. Edge sighed with long suffering annoyance before setting down the food. “I thought I would observe your progress with self-defense lessons to—” PFFFFFFT. Edge froze. He had sat down in Red’s chair—the very one Sans trapped—setting off a loud farting noise that echoed around the room. Whoops? 

“uh. nice one, edgelord,” Sans said, snagging a seat for himself and pulling a plate of pasta close. “glad to know ya can let loose like the rest of us.” He peered at Red, who had his head buried in his arm, body shaking from smothered laughter. Good to know somebody found his childish prank entertaining. Because Edge looked less than amused. “soooo, chow time!”

Edge stood up and tipped the cushion off his seat. He inspected the pressure plate Sans crafted and delicately removed it like a spoiled banana peel. “Was this how you spent your morning?” he asked, sitting back down again.

“yep,” Sans shoved a forkful of noodles into his mouth.

“How...industrious.”

A snort escaped Red as he regained composure. He rubbed damp sockets and wagged his browbones. He then motioned like he was patting his lap. Was he really suggesting Sans get up and sit on Edge’s lap here and now? Sans rolled his eyelights and returned to eating, noting that Edge was slow to partake in his own lunch, waiting for both Red and Sans to tuck in before taking his first bite. Did he do that every time? 

“Something not to your liking?” Edge asked.

A terrible idea struck Sans. One that Red would surely approve of whole-heartedly. 

“nope! wonderful as always, just takin’ a second to savor it.” And then he dug in. He ate with an enthusiasm that would be considered rude and just a tad startling if he was back in his own universe. Letting out little groans of appreciation for each suckerpunch of intent that hit him. He made sure to sneak a few little praises between mouthfuls. Only when the bowl was empty did he look up. The brothers were staring at him. “somethin’ wrong?”

“holy. shit.”

“Yes, well. I am glad you enjoyed my cooking.” Edge made a startled noise then thwacked Red over the head. “Now is not the time, nor is this the place, whelp.”

“ya sure? cuz ya sure felt like yer wuz ready.”

A faint flush bloomed across his cheekbones, “Be that as it may, no molesting my personage at the lunch table.”

“spoilsport. sansy wouldn’t mind a show, would yer? then again, maybe he’s more of an exhibitionist than a voyeur. he did just put on one helluva show for us.”

Sans decided to ignore that last comment, “i have no idea what you’re talkin’ ‘bout. i was just enjoyin’ my lunch.”

“right, and the boss isn’t sportin’ a raging hard on.”

Edge’s skull went scarlet as he stood up forcefully enough to knock over the chair, and outright tried to tackle Red. Sans blinked. Red was ‘porting around the room, dodging Edge’s every attempt to grab him, and instead of turning his soul blue or trapping him, Edge just continued to chase. (Papyrus used to do the same thing. He’d chase Sans around the house with a sock and threaten to smother him with it. Because that’s what brothers did.) 

“I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” Edge shrieked. “THEN TAKE YOUR DUST TO ALPHYS, HAVE HER FUCKING RESSURECT YOU SOMEHOW, THEN KILL YOU AGAIN.” He launched himself at Red, toppling over one of the oversized, plush chairs as the other slipped through his fingers again. God it was ridiculous. 

Sans’ snerked, then chuckled...then broke down laughing.


	25. Buddy

Time did as it was wont to do and kept passing. Letters exchanged hands, though never more often than once a week. One even included a photo of Papyrus tucked inside the envelope. Sans declined to return the sentiment. He wasn’t feeling very photogenic. Though to his surprise, the next letter mentioned how glad Papyrus was that Sans was doing sciency stuff again because he looked so happy. A less than polite inquiry that evening revealed that Red had the whole damn castle and half the underground bugged, and even knew how to get footage off Alphys’ cameras. When Edge mentioned the photograph now taking up residence on Sans’ beside table, Red provided a picture for Edge to send back to Papyrus. 

“yer looked cute,” Red said. “i got copies.”

Sans wanted to be angry, but when he looked at the photo, his ire ebbed away. A month of medication and relative calm left him with an easy half-smile as he worked on his newest contraption. He looked relaxed yet focused, a smudge of grease on his cheekbone, the floor around him utterly littered with scraps and screws. Of all the pictures to send to Papyrus (even if it was just as assurance that Sans was alive and not chained to some basement wall) he couldn’t be mad at this one. 

Didn’t stop him from chewing Red out about invasion of privacy, which earned a snort and a sarcastic, “sure buddy.” Red was every inch an information specialist like Sans, but where Sans had kept up with the local gossip in person, Red hoarded conversations with strategically placed microphones.

“He’s banned from putting them in your bedroom,” Edge told Sans.

And that was that.

Sans tracked the days by the pills in the bottle. He had a fresh refill, the appointment for which Alphys so very helpfully informed Edge that Sans was in good health, and his elevated magic levels were perfect for conceiving a souling. When she started going into detail about soul elasticity and how there was little risk of hemorrhage as long as Edge made sure every stayed _lubricated_ —Sans tuned out. If he had to listen much longer, he’d need a lubrication of a different type just to keep sane. The social kind that lowered inhibitions and burned all the way down. 

He shook the plastic capsule, listened to the tablets clatter, then he set the bottle aside.

Something had to change.

Edge’s attempt at a backwards courtship was becoming more frustrating each day. Even with Alphys’ assurances that Sans wasn’t too broken to serve his purpose, the other didn’t touch him. Didn’t show a single hint of interest. Because, oh, NOW they could wait. NOW they could get to know each other. Well fuck that noise. He was _bonin’_ for a _boning_. 

He waited until Edge came to bed. At dinner, Sans had once more been less than discrete with his enjoyment of the meal, and when Edge retreated into the bathroom, Sans exchanged a look with Red. His doppleganger smirked, “fetch.”

“woof.”

Sans meandered into the bedroom and waited. He was pretty good at it. Patient, lazy—whichever you wanted to call it—Sans quietly watched the bathroom door until Edge emerged. His bones were damp and he was clad in his sleep clothes (which meant no armor to ‘seductively’ remove). Sans yawned and stretched, perfectly content to stay in his rumpled hoodie for now. Edge laid down on his side of the bed, ankles crossed, a book in hand. So domestic. Sans rolled to lay on his stomach, stretching again so that his elbow nudged his husband. Edge continued to read. Sans skimmed a foot along one long, pajama covered leg. Edge shifted and cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything. 

Which meant he’d need to break out the big guns. Sans propped up onto his knees and laid a hand on the arch of Edge’s pelvis. He lowered the book, “Can I help you?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, like he assumed Sans was up to some minor mischief. To be fair, Sans’ last few attempts at seduction likely came off as such. With nothing arising from little comments about food and Edge’s physique. Then again, Edge was used to Red. Short of stating what he wanted in the crassest manner possible, it was unlikely the bonehead would take the hint. He’d been practically oblivious to subtlety since Sans’ breakdown. No longer receptive to little things such as offers to make him a bath or help him change clothes. Assuring Sans that he was under no obligation to help him with such things. He had to wonder if Edge thought that he’d coerced Sans into sex every time. 

_you did try to get him to call you a whore,_ a part of him whispered. 

_that’s because you are one. here you are crawling back into bed with the asshole,_ a darker voice whispered. _maybe if you beg, he’ll treat you like a whore should be treated._

“Sans?” His head snapped up at the hint of concern in Edge’s voice. The other was frowning. Not exactly the mood Sans wanted the other to be in. Sans cast him a disarming smile and feigned another stretch, this time, his hand ‘slipping’ to lay firmly at the base of Edge’s spine. Edge twitched but didn’t move Sans’ hand away. Sans took that as a cue to continue. He snuck his hand under Edge’s shirt and skimmed a phalange along his lower lumbar, and when no protest came, he swallowed, and straddled Edge’s hips. Both hands soon found their way onto his husband’s spine as he leaned forward to steal a kiss. “What are you—?” Their teeth touched and Edge slowly pushed Sans upright, regret evident on his face. “You don’t have to—”

“shut up.”

Edge shut up.

“look, i get it. you feel guilty and shit and regret how this all started.” The Judge lurked precariously close to the surface, viciously aware of the sins of its king. “you lied to everyone, including yourself when you implied you would turn the ‘rune on me and force a child from this union. maybe you didn’t realize it was a lie at the time...but your brother did.” He recalled Red’s vicious defense of his brother, threatening Sans not to make Edge compel him. Because all it would do was hurt them both. “you need an heir. that hasn’t changed from that first night. and i want to see my brother. you acting like i’m going to break if you touch me is counterproductive.”

The guilt was more evident now, Sans could see it eating Edge up inside like a parasite. The Judge clamored to sink its claws in deep, to rip apart this sinner until he repented, if not with action, then with words. Edge reluctantly settled his hands on Sans’ hips, “If that is what you want…”

Oh fudge noodles, this was not going the way Sans planned. Edge looked like he was awaiting execution, and the stupid Judge was trying to scorch corruption, but instead just left Sans with a searing headache. Sans huffed, “no. see, that isn’t what i want.”

Edge removed his hands and at last, a spark of annoyance rose above the shame, “You’re being contradictory!”

“and you’re slow on the uptake, edgelord,” Sans sassed. “sure, i figured when we agreed to figure stuff out, we’d get to know each other, maybe take it a little slower. but we’d still fuck.” Edge had the audacity to look scandalized. Sans rolled his eyelights and began to inch Edge’s shirt up to expose his lower ribs, “the sex was the good part of this whole mess. honestly, did you think i would have been inviting myself into your baths or helping you with your armor if i felt like you were coercing me? if i didn’t at least enjoy it to some degree? hell, i’ve been tryin’ to throw you a bone for weeks and you have been so very politely handing them back like i dropped them instead.”

“I...You don’t mean that,” Edge murmured. “Sans, I can concede that I did enjoy our relations, but I cannot in good faith—”

Sans rolled his hips against Edge’s, drawing a hitched gasp from his husband, “do i have to tie you down to get my point across? what do either of us lose?”

“DAMMIT TO HELL SANS! WHEN WILL YOU TAKE A HINT YOURSELF?! I TRIED TO FOOL MYSELF INTO THINKING OTHERWISE, WE BOTH DID...BUT I...I…” The silence was as damning as the word itself. The guilt and shame and disgust that Sans felt for finding pleasure and comfort in his unwanted husband’s arms was reflected in Edge’s sockets. He was miserably disgusted with himself. Edge didn’t touch him, because he enjoyed their physicality too, and now perceived himself as Sans’ rapist. “I’m...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I…” 

“hey, stay with me, bud,” Sans murmured, abandoning Edge’s ribs to cup his face. “i...didn’t mean to push ya if you aren’t ready. I just...i just thought...heh...i just wanted....”

“You want to see your brother.”

“sure, but, uh, _patella_ the truth, this whole no _bonin’_ schtick is makin’ me… _bonely_.”

Edge blinked, sockets narrowing a hint, “You shouldn’t—”

Sans flicked Edge’s nasal bone, “stop telling me what i should and shouldn’t want or feel unless you plan on makin’ it an order, capiche?”

They stared at each other for a moment before Edge gave Sans a wry smile, “I suppose this is why my brother has been making an exceeding amount of commentary about our sex life?”

“eh, i think that’s just him being a troll, per usual...now…” Sans crept his hands back to Edge’s ribs. “are we done stringin’ out our baggage or would ya like to go diggin’ for a few more socks for me to throw on the floor?”

Edge laid there, perfectly still save for the rise and fall of his chest, “I think we’ve made enough of a mess…”

“heh. shame, cuz i have some very...dirty...ideas…”

Sans didn’t expect to Glow after the first round, but he did. And he was utterly shining after the second. Even Edge’s soul was bright in his chest by the time sweat-damp bones collapsed in a heap. When Sans touched his sternum, Edge covered his hand with his own, “We can wait.”

“what if i don’t wanna wait?”

For the first time, it was Sans coaxing Edge’s soul into the open. His hands cradling both their very core selves in his palms. He didn’t love this monster. Some days, it was hard to even love himself. But there were certain truths and desires that he couldn’t deny. Certain choices he knew he had to make. And when he touched their souls together, there was something achingly desirous in the harmony. Beneath the uncertainty, the grief and shame—there was understanding, yearning and a seed of HoPe.


	26. Hide

Sans isn’t sure exactly what changed (exactly which switch flipped in Edge’s head), but after their soul-to-soul session, he came to bed most nights once again. They would talk. The conversations were not exactly deep or profound, but there were hints beyond the shallow pleasantries from before. In passing he mentioned a worry about his brother one evening, how Red was declining again. Sans wasn’t blind to the shift. The signs were evident. Red was pushier, more snappish. Acting more the part of ruthless executioner than reluctant Judge.

Red’s ‘mood’ put a damper on Sans’. Between the pills, the food and the sex—Sans simply felt good. Really good. Good enough that Edge asked if he wanted to ask Alphys to adjust his stabilizers at the end of the month to a lower dosage as a means to wean him off. Apparently all the soul fondling gave him the impression that Sans was stable and not a risk to himself for the moment. Which was fair. And strange to think about. Things hadn’t changed that much from when he first arrived, but the downwards spiral was less of a slope and more of a staircase. He could climb back up with some effort. 

_it’s a self defense mechanism. you’re happy and content because it’s safer than the alternative. a willfully unhappy, uncooperative whore is one that doesn’t get pretty things and kills their brother with their obstinance._

Okay, best to sideline that thought before he ended up in a low and hating himself for it.

Troubled thoughts led to restlessness. And one afternoon, as he tried to focus on his book, Red stormed in. The other was ruffled and his aura crackling. There was a wild look in his eye that he recalled from that long ago day when Edge literally grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his room. Every instinct cried out in alarm. Where was Edge? 

“hey sweetheart, how ya doin’?” Red drawled, voice sickly sweet, his eyelights narrow, his smile verging on manic. 

“m’fine. you look like shit, though.”

“oh, i’m great. never better.” He laughed. “there was a judgement today. bastard broke the new ‘no lv hunting’ ordinance. got caught dustin’ bunnies in the woods. he’s guilty of a whole lot more though. fucker liked ‘em small and helpless. just barely outta stripes if he could find’em. or still in’em if he couldn’t. aint that fucked? kids are off limits, an’ everyone knows that. even the tyrant had standards until he lost his marbles there at the end. but this guy...this guy...heh. cuz he always went after ‘em when they wuz small, they didn’t give him a whole lotta exp for his efforts. so his love was low. and yer know what the king did? gave me, the judge, rules ‘bout how to judge these low lifes. how if they’re below a certain lv, they can be redeemed. now aint that the sweetest damn bullshit yer ever dun heard?” Red closed in, skimming his clawed phalanges along Sans’ mandible. 

His touch was electric.

“best run away sansy, ‘fore i do somethin’ stupid,” Red whispered. He pushed away and made for his room, throwing open the door like a devil’s invitation to hell. It bounced off the wall but didn’t click shut. Sans froze. _the machine could be in there. if i could see the inside of Red’s room, then i could ‘port in there. i could—_ He swallowed. Even if the machine was in there, what would he do? Visit his brother? Throw himself on the mercy of some random timeline? _such a good pet, staying on your leash. the dick really that good you would give up your only chance to maybe have an out if things go to hell again?_

“Just a peek,” Sans whispered, creeping to the door. But when he peered inside, he found it dark. The windows, if there were any, where blacked out, and the tapestry that hung over the open frame blotted out much of the illumination from the antechamber. He couldn’t see Red’s crimson magic, so he took another step inside. Then another. Maybe Red was in the bathroom? That would explain why he didn’t see him. His soul raced. Just a peek. He’d get a good enough look around that even if he had to ‘port half-blind, he wouldn’t phase into a wall. Sans inched further in and found the floor littered with socks, and the bed dominating much of the limited space. It didn’t look so much like a royal suite as a servant’s quarters. How strange…

He kept poking around, this time skimming the wall with his hands. But just as he found a handle, he heard Edge shouting in the antechamber. And he was calling Red’s name. Panic set in like a lightning bolt and he did the one thing he could think of, he pulled open the door and threw himself through, hoping to ‘port but—

Nothing happened. Like he landed himself into a null zone. He pulled the door shut behind him and stood there, stiff as an ice sculpture in Snowdin, distinctly aware of the scent of leather and smoke. He was in Red’s closet, cozied up to his jacket. Oh joy. Sans slid to the floor, soul racing. He should just leave the closet, wave at Edge and scamper to freedom. It wasn’t like he was forbidden from going into Red’s room, it was just an unspoken rule, since Red kept it locked. It was fine. He was fine. He totally wasn’t breathing too fast and trembling like a physic’s professor’s child failing his middle school science test. Nope. he was fine. He was going to get up any moment now. Any. Mo—

SLAM.

“SANS! YOU LEFT IN THE MIDDLE OF A STARS DUSTED JUDGEMENT!”

A light flickered on and Sans became painfully aware that he didn’t shut the closet all the way. There was a crack of light slanting into his hiding spot that he inched to avoid. Edge stomped across the room and slammed open another door and the next thing he knew, there was the sudden chill and the distinct sound of blue magic. But it wasn’t Edge being kicked out of the bathroom. No. Sans saw a shadow and heard a sputter of curses. Edge had just thrown Red onto the bed. 

“I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR BEHAVIOR BEFORE IT GOT THIS FAR.”

“fuck off,” Red snarled. “you aint got no business tellin’ me how to do my damn job!”

“THERE ARE RULES FOR A REASON!”

“fuck your rules right up the ass! guy deserved to burn in hell. he’s a kid killer!”

“BE THAT AS IT MAY, YOU ARE NOT TO LEAVE IN THE MIDDLE OF A JUDGEMENT. YOU ARE TO—”

“recite his sins and state my judgement of the accused. i woulda killed ‘im, boss, ‘fore i got through the list of his crimes. hehe. and enjoyed every second of his suffering as karma ate him alive.” Sans dared to peek through the crack in the door, curiosity winning out over self preservation. Edge stood at the foot of the bed, sweat on his skull, kingly attire in place, one hand up as Red writhed on the sheets like a feral beast trying to break its chains. Sans frowned. Red should be able to slip through the blue attack, redirect his own gravity to counteract his brother’s spell. But he didn’t. He chose to lay there, fighting against it physically as Edge strained to keep him down.

“...You’re not well.”

“don’t look at me like that! i’m not some pity project ya need to get all soft on. i’m not sansy. we may share a face, but we’re not the same! yer can’t fix me with meds and pasta and stupid apologies! all yer can do is put me out of my goddamn misery like you shoulda fuckin’ years ago when yer were old enough to realize i was a dead weight.”

“I see,” Edge took in a breath and removed a glove. “It seems I have no other choice.” He removed his other glove and tucked them into his belt. With practiced swiftness, he slid a box from under the bed with one foot and kicked it open. He retrieved handcuffs and a strip of silk. Oh. OH! Sans realized he should stop watching. This was private. This was very, very private and he was about to be invading their privacy so much and why couldn’t he move? Red cursed and struggled. Edge cuffed him to the headboard, earning a knick to the ribs for his efforts. A solid one, enough to make Edge sputter before he grabbed the offending foot and wrenched the leg straight, hauling Red closer and forcing the chain on the cuffs taut. 

Red bucked and thrashed, kicking Edge again with his free foot. It was only a matter of a minute before Edge had both legs controlled and Red flipped onto his face. Edge knelt on Red’s legs, and avoided sharp teeth as he tied the blindfold on as well. 

“Apologize,” Edge demanded.

“eat a dick!”

“Not if you persist with this behavior,” Edge snarked. He eased off the bed, reaching for the box, and earned a kick to the head. Red squirmed back onto his back, the air utterly thrumming with cold, wild magic. Sans’ bone’s prickled. It felt like death. Like the moment before an execution. There was a shrill whir in the air and Sans saw the shimmer of canons ready to emerge from the Void, armed and ready to destroy all that Red wished to annihilate. Edge didn’t flinch away. Without heed for his lv or Red’s threat, he lunged for Red’s collar, pulled it tight enough to cut off any attempt to breath and outright backhanded Red across the face. It was abrupt and brutal and—

The canons dissolved away.

—Edge shoved Red back down and grabbed a tool from the box at his feet. It was thin and black...was that a freakin’ crop? Like for horses? 

“Ready to apologize yet?” Edge asked, his voice low.

Red didn’t reply, his breath coming in quick gasps. But when he did regain himself, he looked Edge dead in the eye and spat in his face.

Sans was starting to understand why Red and Edge needed each other. What began as a violent exchange of blows neither attempts to deflect turned into a vicious game, with Red fighting like hell, and Edge staying dangerously calm through it all. After what could have been hours, Red’s stamina gave out, and he laid there on the bed, breaths wet, as if he was crying. He lost his shoes and shorts at some point, and Edge had rucked up his jacket and sweater, which left bones on display. Sans couldn’t see a great deal from the closet, but he could see enough to know that Red was a mess of cracks and scars that glittered like a patchwork mosaic when flushed with magic.

“m’sorry,” Red slurred, sounding punch drunk.

“Are you really?” Edge skimmed the crop along Red’s lower ribs, as if preparing another blow. 

“please boss, i...i need…”

He tapped the tool on a floating rib, “Further punishment?”

“i...yes? i...i dunno...i just...i need....i…”

“Color?”

“boss please.”

“I said color. What is your color, Sans?”

“m’green. fuckin’ green.”

“You certain?”

“if yer don’t take off yer pants an fuck me, i’ll drag the pipsqueak out of the closet and have him finish what ya won’t!” W-what?! Sans fell to the floor, landing hard on his coccyx. Red knew, possibly this whole time, and he just now said something?! Red let out a hoarse laugh. “come out, sansy~ i won’t bite...much. the view’s much better up here.”

Sans couldn’t make his legs work. Which didn’t matter since Edge opened the door.

“sup, buddy?” Sans offered a strained smile. “come here often?”

“You...weren’t supposed to see this,” Edge murmured.

“it’s, uh, fine? red kinda implied you guys had a thing. didn’t realize it was uh...this kind of kinky. i should go outside, er, not outside-outside, but, not in this room. so you guys can have your private time as private.” He couldn’t help but peek at the bed, where he found Red staring at him, expression unreadable.

“shame. there goes that hot threesome fantasy. we coulda made a _sans_ which wit yer in the middle.”

“I think it would be best if you did step out,” Edge said though Sans caught a hint of regret. 

“just so it’s clear, i’m fine with you guys doing...whatever this is?”

Red snorted, “hey, boss, yer hubby don’t mind yer bangin’ yer brother-mistress. so why don’t yer get on that?”

“don’t you mean ‘in’ that?” Sans quipped.

“in, on. both. aint picky.”

“Sans,” Edge warned.

“right, right, m’leaving.”

“mebbe next time,” Red called out after him.

Sans has to wonder if he’s lost his mind when he counters back with a flippant, “maybe.”


	27. Music

To say Red’s mood improved was an understatement. After a couple of days of Edge discreetly secreting off with him to his bedroom, the other skeleton’s terrorizing behavior returned to the usual levels of puckish mischief. He was so improved, that Sans swore there was a bounce to his step that had been lacking and a playfulness to their self-defense lessons. Of course, Sans still felt like a mouse trying to fend off a cat, but at least now, the feline was fat and full instead of out for blood. It was during one such lesson that Sans caught Red off guard. They weren’t dueling with daggers, but with their bodies, Red having been showing Sans how to escape from grapples. But this time, when Red grabbed Sans, Sans took a page out of a previous lesson and turned the other’s weight against him, managing to actually flip him over his shoulder and into the table. 

There was a crack and a clatter and a smash as the force of impact caused empty plates from lunch to shake and cups to tip over. One such glass was even close enough to the edge to pitch off and dump its yellow, goopy contents all over Red before smashing to pieces on the stone floor. 

“Uh...whoops?” Sans hadn’t meant to do that. Not consciously. He also hadn’t realized how close to the table they were when he threw Red. How had he managed that? Sure, he had more energy lately and was even shimmering at times from the glut of magic that pulsed through his manalines. But he hadn’t expected to have the physical strength to do that! Especially to someone as guarded as Red tended to be. “you’kay bud?”

Red shook off the bits of glass clinging to his sleeves and rubbed his skull. No new cracks. Sans refrained from CHECKing the other, but if he let the Judge rise to the surface, he could see a little more than he should, and took note of the stats dancing around Red’s soul. Guilt roiled through him at the sight of chipped HP. Red had more than him but that wasn’t saying much. A moldsmol had more than Sans. Fallen Down monsters had more HP than Sans. 

“well damn, sweetheart, if yer wanted me to quit the mustard, there’s easier ways to make a point than nearly bustin’ my skull open,” Red drawled, wiping a glob of the condiment off his skull and licking it off his phalanges. “what a waste.” He sighed and stood up, more disappointed by the wasted mustard than upset at the fact that Sans just threw him. 

“dunno, your brother mentioned once that it sometimes takes some force for you to _kick_ a habit,” Sans quipped, wincing as the words left his mouth. Yes, make a joke about how Edge broke Red’s teeth in an effort to make a sober skeleton out of him. Red flicked his eyelights up, a menacing sharpness to their previously hazy outline. But his smile was relaxed. He wasn’t on the prowl...yet.

“can’t say he’s wrong about that,” Red said smoothly, easing up to his feet. “looks like our lesson is gonna be cut short. gotta clean up ‘fore i head back out.” And with that, he headed for his room, looking back at Sans as he reached the door, “feel free to join me, sansy. to conserve water and all that bullshit.”

“i’m good.”

Red shrugged and vanished, leaving Sans alone with his thoughts. He stared at his hands. The very ones that Sans kept tucked into the pockets of his hoodie or pants. Hands he concealed in gloves and mittens when in Snowdin, not because he felt cold, but because it was practical, because it helped him fit in. Hands that were often stained, be it with ketchup or ink (or blood). He drew in a sharp breath and fought away the almost electric spark of a maybe memory. His gloves were gone, thrown aside, and crimson gleamed on the white of bone. So much red. Red that glimmered and dripped and clung like morbid gloves. He stared at them, as if willing gaping holes to form in stained palms before the darkness of void swallowed him whole. 

Sans shuddered back to reality. Dreams. It was just bad dreams. He never fought the human, much less killed it and stained his body and soul with its blood. Dirty. He felt dirty. Imagined sins leaving his bones unclean. Maybe he did need a shower...but as he made his way to his own bedroom, he heard music. Not like from the radio, but rough and unpracticed and real. Sans’ feet moved on their own accord, taking him to Red’s door. It was shut, per usual, but when he tested the handle, he found it unlocked. Sans leaned his skull against the door. The music came from inside. He couldn’t quite hear the words.

If the curiosity that landed him in Red’s closet last time didn’t kill him, then it certainly wouldn’t this time. So he opened the door. The lights were on, giving Sans a proper view. There was the bed and the closet door and a mess of socks. Nothing of real note caught his eye until he spotted a tarp. Sans couldn’t help it. He padded to the edge and peeked under. His breath caught. The machine. It was here. Just...sitting in Red’s bedroom. There were no lights or any signs of it being on or functional, but surely it would only take a little effort to…

He stepped back, dropping the tarp back in place. His hand trembled. If this was another trick or trap, then trying to activate the machine would only end in suffering. 

_giving up already? you really are broken._

Sans shifted further back and forced himself to focus on the music. Or more accurately, the singing. It was Red. It had to be. There was the sound of rushing water and above it was the rising and falling rumble of a voice that was a not-quite-twin of Sans’ own. Except, Sans couldn’t sing. Not like this. Common sense dictated that he stayed where he stood and continued to listen from outside the bathroom, but uneasy thoughts and shaking hands left him yearning for a distraction. Red had made an invitation. 

Pushing open the bathroom door with a creak, Red’s singing cut off. Sans froze. Suddenly, Red pulled aside the curtain just enough to see his new guest, the surprise evident on his face. Maybe that invite hadn’t been earnest. Maybe it was just another one of Red’s jokes, him hitting on Sans a reflex rather than actual interest. But before Sans could retreat, Red’s grin widened and he wagged his browbones, “want me to wash yer back?” He then slipped back behind the curtain as he added, “gotta lose the pants first. aint gonna let yer in here fully clothed. you’d end up drippin’ water all over the damn floor, and the boss would end up chewin’ my ass fer slippin’ hazards or some shit.”

“can’t have that.”

“nope. an’ shut the door, yer lettin’ out all the heat.”

Sans obeyed. Then he casually shrugged out of his hoodie and laid it on the counter. He could still back out. Nothing was forcing him to take off a single extra layer and he didn’t have to climb into the shower with his alternate. Sans sat on the toilet lid and kicked off his shoes, “so, before i came in here i heard somethin’ interestin’.”

“oh?” 

“mhm. like, oh, somebody singin’ in the shower.”

“really? mebbe yer were imaginin’ things.”

“i wasn’t the one that hit my head,” Sans quipped. “and unless we have musical shower gremlins that nobody cared to inform me about…”

There was a long pause, “well, there’s jus’ the one and he don’t do that prissy singin’ shit...much…”

“any way to inspire him to continue?”

Another pause, then a disbelieving laugh, “sure, sure. the sight of a handsome skeleton in all his barebones glory might be a good start. course a handy wouldn’t hurt.”

“narcissist,” Sans snarked.

“how rude to imply i’m the shower goblin.”

“gremlin.”

“same difference.” Sans rolled his eyelights and stood up, shorts pooling at his ankles. He stepped out of them and slipped into the shower, right behind his counterpart. Red actually jumped a hair, eyelights large when he glanced over his shoulder, “well hot damn. yer actually joined me.”

“i decided i wanted a shower.”

“uh huh.”

“but i am disappointed.”

“why?”

“there appears to be a distinct lack of singing shower gremlins.”

Red snorted and grabbed a loofa and some soap, “mebbe he’ll show up later. how ‘bout i wash yer back while we wait.”

“sure. kinda hard to bribe him with a handy if he won’t show up.”

The other dropped the soap and sputtered, “fuck, just...got water in my socket is all.”

Sans looked down, “m’not pickin’ that up.”

A flicker of interest passed on Red’s countenance, “that so? hard to wash each other’s back without soap.” Red let his gaze trail from Sans’ sternum to his toes, clearly appreciating every bone on display in between. “but i’m...flexible. soap. no soap. don’t matter much to me.” Red slowly knelt and scooped up the bar, skull precariously close to Sans’ pelvis. He peered up. Which might have been a touch more sexy if not for the faceful of water that Red received for his efforts. He was a champ and only coughed out the water when he was standing again, though he did steady himself with a hand at Sans’ hip. “but what do yer want?” His thumb lingered on Sans’ hip.

“to conserve water. here, hand me the loofa, i think you missed a spot. there’s mustard on your neck.” A considerable feat given the collar that hung there at all times. 

Red didn’t comply right away, but eventually he forked over the loofa and soon, Sans was scrubbing his neck and spine. It was a familiar action. He’d done this for Edge before. Though with Edge, if he played his cards right, frisked the loofa over the right places at the right time, he could encourage a little bit of fun. Sans wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to play that game with Red. He found that he didn’t mind sharing the shower with him, and scrubbing those cracked bones was doing interesting things to his magic, making it thrum and tingle. Maybe he’d let it have an opinion. Maybe.

Red seemed content with the whole affair. Despite no ‘happy ending’ promised, he leaned forward, humming softly as Sans worked over his bones. 

Sans swallowed, and his hand strayed just a little. Red tensed but didn’t say a word. Sans let his hand settle a little more firmly on the inside of his pelvic crest and slid his phalanges...Red laid a hand over his, “didn’t realize this was a full service wash.”

He pulled his hand away and Red let him move, “sorry. i thought…”

Red turned, spine to the steaming water as he backed Sans into the shower wall with a look, “i wuz jokin’ ‘bout the handy, sansy. if you really wanna listen to me sing fer whatever reason, just...i dunno, ask later. mebbe we can make out after or some shit.”

“dude you think this is ‘bout you singin’? you got a nice voice and all, but you’re not a siren. i was...well...doin’ that because i...wanted to?”

“yer wanted to get frisky for funsies?”

“puttin’ it that way just makes it sound juvenile.”

Red snickered, “i believe yer asked if i wuz thirteen before.”

“riiiiight, i forgot, you’ve got the same taste in jokes as a middle schooler that’s learned what sex is for the first time.”

“oh daddy, i feel so strange when you touch me like thaaaaat~”

Sans choked at Red’s falsetto and gave him a small push. The other returned the gesture, effectively pinning him. Kissing in the shower kinda sucked if Sans was honest. But he couldn’t find it in himself to complain. Not when his magic declared that this was decidedly exactly what it wanted right now. 

“somebody is happy to see me,” Red murmured as he moved his mouth to Sans’ neck. “mmmm. have any requests?”

“sayin’ you’re fully customizable?”

“fuck yeah. more fun that way.”

They went back to kissing between quips and laughter, hands questing and curious. Red wasn’t like Edge, who was often cautious and careful, lavishing Sans with gentleness before daring to push his limits. He gave all that Sans wanted and took all that Sans was willing to give, and greedily at that. They didn’t go further than touching, but it hardly mattered. Not when they ended up tangled and breathless by the end. 

When they were dry and dressed, Red dragged Sans close and kissed him, all tongue and lust and smoky promise, “heh. that was fun, sansy.”

Sans swallowed, still muzzy and warm, “yeah. fun.”

“boss will ‘ave his hands full tonight, i bet. you’re still all worked up.”

“you’re the one that didn’t wanna go further.”

Red shrugged with false nonchalance, “i didn’t want yer regrettin’ shit, okay? i’m an asshole, but not _that_ much of one. usually.” He eyed Sans, “hit me up again once yer process or whatever. and if ya still want me to bend yer over the nearest table...”

“first off, who says you’d be doin’ the bending? and second, the tables are all too tall anyway.”

They both laughed at that.

“ooooh, such confidence, level bait.”

“i mean i did have my fingers up your—”

“Ahem. Am I interrupting something?”

The pair broke apart at the sound of Edge’s voice, peering up at the tall skeleton lounging in the doorway of Red’s bedroom, “You’re late, whelp.”

“tch. couldn’t be nothin’ too important to do if you’re here.”

“Fortunately,” Edge said. “However, I must emphasize that you are needed to attend your duties at the earliest convenience.”

“right, right, i’m goin’. see ya later, sansy. we can finish this conversation...later.”

“sure.”

Following the brothers out of Red’s room, he watched them leave, aware of the unlocked door behind him and what just occurred behind it. He could still turn around and investigate the machine. He could try to escape. 

A yawn escaped him.

A nap sounded better.


	28. Float

“Would you like a tour of the castle?”

Sans yawned and blinked up at Edge, a little dazed and muzzy from their earlier lovemaking. Edge was a restless fellow, much like Papyrus, and while he stayed in bed with Sans, he discovered that his husband didn’t actually spend much of that time sleeping. So when Sans found himself awake before dawn, well, one thing led to another. Not that Edge seemed to mind Sans sleepily rocking their hips together until magic stirred and they basked in each other’s embrace.

“tour?” Sans rubbed his sockets, “wait, i thought it was dangerous or whatever for me to be outside of these rooms.”

“It is. I do not advise you to take to wandering the halls without an escort, but the Guard Captain and my brother have both assured me that there is no rebel threat currently endangering the inhabitants of the castle.”

Sans hummed low in his throat and snuggled back into his cozy sleeping spot, “sure, whatever. tour sounds great. but later. when normal monsters who actually sleep are awake.”

“I sleep!”

All he received in response was a mumble as Sans returned to his slumber.

As discussed, when Sans was actually awake and ready to face the day, Edge took Sans on a tour. Not before he dressed his prince consort in ‘suitable’ attire, however. Apparently his favorite hoodie wasn’t acceptable. Which was how Sans found himself in his new, light-blue leather jacket with fur trim, a white sweater and long white pants. His slippers were replaced with matching boots. And upon his head was a thin circlet of gold. Edge had wanted to stuff him in white-and-gold robes and gilded armor similar to that of their wedding night, flowing cloak included, but compromises were made. Though Sans did have to admit, it would have made them a striking pair walking arm-in-arm down the halls, with his husband bedecked in black armor and cloak, crown firmly in place in lieu of the usual helm.

As they moved through the castle, guards saluted them, faces hidden behind fearsome helmets, armor scarred from many battles hard won. Undyne joined them early on, a spear wielding shadow in platemail. 

“where’s your bro?” Sans asked as they moved through austere halls, the sight of them just as unwelcoming as when he made his impromptu escape attempt. The grim tapestries of war and bloodshed were dark reflections of the tragically hopeful ones in his own timeline. Curious how the same stories could be told in such strikingly different tones. It was little wonder that the monsters of this world thought they needed to be violent and strong in order to overcome the bloody might of the human armies. Not that it mattered. One human was as strong as a thousand monsters. With enough DETERMINATION, even a child could cull all of their kind with a toy knife and a smile. 

“He is around.”

“lurking?”

Edge inclined his chin.

They continued on in relative silence, Edge breaking the quiet to introduce Sans to a room or describe a painting that caught the other’s eye. It was all rather uninteresting save for one place. 

“My study. There is little reason for you to ever come in here.”

What he called a study, Sans called a war room. He recognized the space as the very one he often occupied in his own world. With bookshelves from floor to ceiling and a massive desk dominating one side of the room, papers assembled in ordered chaos, ready to be read and action taken. But instead of pillars of documents, there was a wide table taking up a majority of the floorspace, a map rolled out on top, little figurines assembled as if preparing for battle. Sans couldn’t help but wander closer, a sad fondness filling his chest as he inspected the little figurines. 

Army men and plastic superheroes, just like Papyrus...Some looked custom painted. Sans chuckled as he picked one up, “this one looks like you.” From the pointy black armor, to the red dots for eyes, it certainly bore a familiar menace.

Edge made a disapproving noise and plucked the figure from Sans’ grip, returning it to the table, “Yes, yes. Very good. Please touch with your eyes only.” He nudged a couple of the other figures millimeters to the side.

“sorry, i shoulda known better. paps was always real particular about his strategy maps. i knocked his table over once by accident, when he was like...thirteen? kid wouldn’t let me in his room for a week and made me read him his bedtime story in the hallway. heh. good times. goooood...times...anyway, m’feelin’ tired. we can head back now if you want.”

“If that is what you wish?”

Sans shrugged, “not real interested in touring the throne room or the judgement hall tibia-honest.”

“What about the kitchen?”

“...consider me tempted.”

A rare smile tugged at the corners of Edge’s mouth, “This way.”

Sans really was tired. When they returned to the royal suite, he sprawled out on the couch for a nap, content to laze there, belly full from the snack they pilfered from the kitchens. It wasn’t until dinner time that Edge roused him, a pensive look on his face, like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words. 

“sumthin’ up, bud?”

“Are you happy? Or at least...content?”

He sat up. This kind of conversation was best had upright and alert, “i suppose.”

“You miss your brother.”

“every day. heh. maybe i’ll get to see him soon.”

Edge glanced away, “Perhaps.”

“hey. uh, that order to stay in these rooms…”

“Consider it waved,” Edge said, quick to straighten his spine. “I must reiterate that you are not a prisoner and this world is your home now. But I must caution you not to wander. I do not wish to use the Rune, but please, try not to galavant around the castle without myself, my brother or Undyne as an escort.”

“and don’t go outside.”

“Correct.”

Sans yawned and rolled over, “kay.”

“Ideally, this won’t be forever.”

“look, i expected to be locked in that bedroom for the rest of my life when i first got here. i can be patient. eventually is better than never,” he said. “though, if you can get alph to figure out that cross dimensional phone, that’d be super. heh. you know it’s funny, i never really thought of myself as that social until spending these past couple months mostly seein’ the same two faces. don’t mind the quiet...well, anymore...but i can’t exactly hop down to grillbyz for a burg and play a few rounds of poker with the dogs if i’m bored.” Sans let his sockets flutter shut. “guess boredom will be less of an issue once we actually have a kid.” 

Edge was quiet again.

“wanna fool around?” Sans cracked open a socket to see his husband flush crimson and sputter. He snickered, “might cheer ya up or whatever. plus, i’m horny. i accused alphys of sneaking weird stuff into the mix last time i saw her, but no. apparently this is called having a healthy sex drive.” Too healthy if anyone was asking. Sometimes it felt like his body was making up for the lost years where he was essentially a single, teenage parent turned nihilistic failure. Hard to develop deep, meaningful relationships when nothing felt real or permanent or worthwhile. 

“oooh, can i watch this time?”

Edge groaned and Sans felt his own skull flush a little. Red was back from wherever he was skulking. With a sigh, Edge pulled Sans off the couch, “I believe dinner is in order.”

“kinky,” Sans quipped. “still not my fetish, but i think i’m startin’ to understand.”

Edge sputtered again and walked away. Too easy.

With a conspiratorial glance at Red, they followed Edge. Maybe Sans wasn’t happy. Maybe he was. He really couldn't remember being happy. Sure, there had been moments. Those bright spots in the grey of life named Papyrus. But he’d been muddling through for so long that happiness was as foriegn as the Surface. All he knew was that his steps felt lighter some days, almost as if he was floating on air. 

Of course, there were still bad days. Dark days. Where the voices in his head were ruthless and loud, relentless as they reminded him of every reason he shouldn’t be happy at all. 

But Sans settled on okay.

He could work with okay.

“are yer seriously glowin’ right now? pffft. damn.”

Sans laid a hand over his sternum and shot Red a narrow look, “what can i say, gotta love a man in armor.”

“hell yeah.”


	29. Shoes

Shoes can say much about a person.

Sans liked slippers. Color didn’t matter. He’d wear them until they fell apart and then duct tape them back together. They were comfy and easy to slip on and off. Perfect for a lazybones like him. His favorite, ratty pink pair sat by the bed, though he did own a few different ones thanks to Edge. There were sleek white ones that matched the bathrobe he never used. Fluffy blue ones that paired well with his leather jacket. Oh! The other day, a pair of novelty slippers in the shape of hotdogs appeared magically in the closet. Sans had to wonder if Red was involved there. 

But he didn’t always wear slippers. Sometimes he pulled on a pair of sneakers that he never bothered lacing. They were tired, second-hand things, dug up from the Dump no doubt. And he had boots for when he went for a walk around the castle. Pretty white leather ones like freshly fallen snow. 

Red was like Sans, but instead of hoarding slippers, he liked his sneakers. He had a collection. Old ones with the soles taped on. Shiny new ones velcro instead of laces. Some were plain and black, while others were neon. When he worked, he wore boots. One pair might have been black at one point but were scuffed and stained, dust too embedded into the leather to properly scrub off. His formal set were deep maroon and matte, though you’d never know they weren’t black without tilting them in direct light. 

Then there was Edge. Edge was king of boots. So many boots. Knee high red leather ones that were well worn and dulled from use. Shiny rubber rain boots with black bottoms that reminded Sans of Papyrus' superhero shoes went unworn but never collected dust. There were sturdy leather ones in multiple shades. Shiny formal ones that he wore with armor. A few clearly were from Edge’s youth, such as the gothic ones with platform bottoms and laces from toe to knee, or the combat boots with more buckles and chains than anyone could possibly require on one's feet. There was a whimsical impracticality to them that Edge no longer entertained. 

In their closets were stories told with a single type of attire. How Sans could be senselessly frugal and hard for Edge to ‘spoil’, his role as prince consort as strange to him as those pristine boots were amongst the pile of well-loved slippers. How Red, so used to sacrifices, couldn’t help but greedily collect that which he found interesting, finding joy in having something he could call his and his alone. And Edge? Despite the hellverse he grew up in, he was still a Papyrus at his core. The fastidiously practical and tactical warlord and king had lost the last of his childhood, his innocence, when he assumed the mantle of king, no room anymore for puzzles without purpose or needlessly complicated footwear. 

Thus when Edge came to bed one night and presented him with a pair of the tiniest shoes Sans had ever seen in his life, Sans didn’t quite know what to think. None of them could wear the little yellow boots, nor had Sans begun collecting dolls. Edge stared at him, silent, as Sans continued to work through the conundrum given. Slowly, Sans took the boots, marveling at how small they were in his palms. He looked at his husbands’ expectant face and suddenly, it clicked. 

His breath caught.

Sans laid the shoes aside and pulled off his shirt. His soul had been rather bright lately. Prone to shimmering when he was in a good mood. But he blamed it on the meds. 

“how long have you known?” Sans asked.

“About a week,” Edge murmured. That meant he conceived somewhere around when he got his tour of the castle. “I didn’t wish to alarm you if the magic didn’t remain stable. I, ah, thought you knew and were waiting to tell me at first, but...then I realized that you hadn’t been CHECKING yourself lately.” He sat down beside Sans. “How do you feel?”

“uh...good? happy i guess?”

“Happy?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” Sans shrugged. “you get your heir. i get to see my bro. the conditions of the treaty are met or whatever. and hey, it means that i’m healthy! my hp is low, but my magic reserves are high, and apparently, even a schmuck like me can make a kid.” _i’m not broken._ “whuddabout you? shouldn’t you be, i dunno...more excited?”

Edge cleared his throat, “I am. Excited, I mean.”

“then why the _grave_ face? it’s a baby, not an execution notice.”

He laid a hand over Sans’, “Do you remember what you said during our wedding vows?”

“eh, mostly?” He rubbed his sternum. “promised to love our kids if and when we had them. and to...uh, not be opposed to, er, loving you eventually.” Sans swallowed, “look, bud, shit’s happened and we didn’t get the best start and i’m still not exactly entirely okay with the whole ‘arranged marriage’ thing. we’ve got issues we gotta work on. but i’d like to think that we’re...friends, i guess?”

“That is fair.”

“what’s eatin’ ya then?”

Edge picked up the baby shoes, “Misplaced regret I suppose.”

“havin’ a kid with someone who likes ya well enough is better than one that tolerates or even hates you.”

“Indeed.”

Sans leaned against Edge’s shoulder and sighed, his own mood a touch somber, “we can’t change the past, bud.”

“There’s so much I could have done differently.”

“look, if ya think i’d have fallen in love with you if you had been the picture of gentlemanly courtship, you’re wrong. it woulda been weird and uncomfortable.”

“And having sex with the stranger that threatened to dust your whole timeline was less so?”

“kinda?”

They fell silent until Sans began to chuckle.

“Your sense of humor is questionable at times.”

“awe, not all the time? how sweet. you do like my puns!”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“liar.”

“Never.”

Sans hummed, “sometimes.”

“...I try not to be.”

“honesty isn’t always the best policy,” he let the shoes dangle from his phalanges. “but be honest with me now. can i really see my bro?”

“Yes. But he is a King. I cannot promise a visit by him soon. Simply as soon as we can arrange it.”

“i’ll take it.”

“How do you think he will react?”

“he’ll be the best, happiest uncle.”

Edge pressed a kiss to Sans’ skull, the innocent gesture bringing a blush to Sans’ cheekbones, “I believe you are correct in that assessment.”

“red—er, your brother—can be the stabby uncle,” Sans shook his head. “oh angel, he’ll be a terrible influence won’t he?”

“The worst.”

“but, i guess it won’t be too bad. he did raise you by himself, didn’t he?”

“Would you believe he’s mellowed out?”

“how high strung was he before you two started, ah, your thing?” Sans pulled a face. “okay, i’m just weirding myself out now. i really, really try not to think too hard about it.”

It was Edge’s turn to snort in amusement, “Very. And if it’s any comfort, we did not start ‘our thing’ until relatively recently. I’d become vice captain of the guard and my brother was...unwell. He had to do much to keep us both alive with a roof over our heads. He...couldn’t stand people touching him by the time I got my promotion and fully established myself as head of household. He was constantly picking fights. He replaced drinking with a dozen different bad habits.” This wasn’t a very pleasant memory, obviously. “I was always so angry with him. He kept trying to get himself killed.” Edge let out a slow breath, “Then I found this book and it...helped.”

“kinky bullshit book?”

“Kinky bullshit book.”

“and the sex?”

It was Edge’s turn to shrug, “Happened. We were both adults and...it was something he—we— needed.” He shook away the memory, “The past is the past. No point in lingering in it.”

“not when there’s a future to look forward to?”

“Especially then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Real communication?!


	30. Ominous

When Sans held up the baby shoes when Red popped in with lunch, his alternate offered his standard smirk, sharp and hard to read as always. He laid the tray on the table and winked, “who do yer think helped the uppity bastard obtain those?”

“they’re in pretty good shape for dump diving. unless you robbed some poor sucker.”

“is it stealin’ if the previous owners are piles of dust in a ‘nother universe?”

“i believe that’s called looting,” Sans drawled, though there was a twinge behind his sockets as he strained not to inspect Red for sins. The monster before him was a killer. A thief. He played fast-and-loose with morality to the point that one might even objectively call him evil. “so, thoughts?”

“‘bout what? looting?”

“the kid, dingus.”

Red shrugged in that overly casual, devil-may-care manner that could set off alarm bells of anyone with a lick of self-preservation, “didn’t realize i got an opinion. boss is king and yer his legally decreed baby momma.” Sans snorted. “i’m just uncle jimmy mc. stabbins.”

“i thought you were uncle sansy mc shank-a-guy?”

“eh, same diff,” Red hopped into a chair, one arm slung over the back. “ass-gore effed up the nursery before he croaked, so we’ll need to finish up the remodeling. maybe it’ll be a fun project fer yer to decorate or whatever yer inevitable nesting instincts tell ya to do.”

“i’m not a bird.”

“naw, but yer preggers.”

“charming,” Sans hopped into a chair across from Red and pulled the tray of food towards him. Sandwiches today. He shoved a triangle into his mouth. “was just curious if you planned on bein’ involved.”

There was an odd glint in Red’s eyelights, “course i will be. anybody who tries to touch the brat is losin’ fingers.” He fiddled with the sandwich on his own plate, absently picking it apart. “toldja, family protects family. that aint changed.”

“i had to wonder since…”

“since what?” Sans shivered, well aware this was a dangerous game to play. 

“since the kid is mine and not yours.”

Red scoffed, “don’t say stupid shit like that.”

“why—?”

“it doesn’t fuckin’ matter!” Red snarled, slamming one hand on the table before pushing to his feet.

“yeesh, sore subject, got it.”

“tch. me an’ boss will be busy for the next couple days. with the bun bakin’ in the oven, there’s stuff to do, shit to steal. trust yer can stay outta trouble?”

“yes _dad_.”

Red proceeded to lick the flecks of condiments from his phalanges, “don’t worry babe, daddy will be back soon~”

“weirdo.”

“you say that like ya have never had yer tongue down the throat of yer evil clone from an alternate dimension, or yer fingers up his—”

“just go. i’ll be fine.”

“boss will say bye before we’re off.”

“he’d better.”

But as Red vanished from sight, Sans couldn’t shake the ominous feeling creeping down his spine. It was nothing. It had to be. The brothers went universe hopping rather frequently from what he could surmise. Between the gifts, the letters he received from Paps and the appearance of the warlord in his bedroom were all rather strong signs of such. 

Sans pushed down the unease and finished his lunch. 

The first day Red and Edge were away, Sans wrote a letter, sharing the news of his pregnancy with his brother. It was odd putting those words to paper. Shame bubbled up like a bitter aftertaste he couldn’t wash from his mouth. He swallowed he read over the message, rounded letters gleaming in still wet ink, capturing the barest fraction of the story. Sans didn’t write about the bad days. About fear or anger or regret. He didn’t commit to paper the unspoken blame or how the Judge was too close to the surface some days, clawing to the inside of his skull, whispering of this world’s corruption. Instead he only shared the happy news. How Papyrus would be an uncle soon and how the brothers were already preparing for the baby’s arrival. He wrote about his latest prank on Edge and Red’s singing voice. And he ended it all with a yearning for Papyrus to visit, and a bid for him to make time to come see his future niece or nephew. 

He wasn’t one for lengthy letters, but by the time he tired and laid the pen aside, there were three pages, ready to be folded and mailed. Sans tucked them into an envelope and sealed it. He’d give it to Edge when he returned.

The next day he read. It was easy enough to burn the whole of his waking hours buried in a book.

The day after? He worked on his machines. 

After that? He settled in front of the TV and watched the original Star Wars trilogy and ET. 

Come day five, Sans knew something wasn’t right. Emboldened by a deep sense of urgency and a complete lack of sleep, he ‘ported into Red’s room and stood before the machine. Except, it was still covered by the tarp. He pulled it off. It...wasn’t on? That didn’t make sense. This was how they jumped timelines...wasn’t it? 

Sans staggered back. He’d been right. The machine ever so conveniently being in Red’s room? A decoy. Another trick. Red and Edge didn’t care about Sans’ intrusion into Red’s room because there was no chance of Sans actually escaping this way. His hands curled. Not the time to mindfuck over this. He needed...he needed…

Undyne! She would know more. 

Drawing in a deep breath, he steeled himself for what he knew he had to do. Within ten minutes he was clad in his princely attire, as Sans figured honesty would be better than sneaking around while pretending to be Red (again). Then he was out the door and in the castle, the Rune twinging as he moved through the halls. He hadn’t been forbidden from roaming the halls alone, just strongly advised to not do so. There was a difference. And this was an emergency. 

It took all of a few minutes to figure out that nothing was quite right. The castle was eerily quiet and sparse in life. There were maids, yes, and the occasional guard, but not the number he saw when touring with Edge. He hurried his pace. Where would Undyne hang out while the king was away? Hell, she could be on patrol and him wandering in vain. Great. Just great. Real forward thinking there, bonehead. Sans arrived at Edge’s office and found it locked. No surprise. It took no effort to ‘port in, and just as much to find some hints at what the other was up to. 

Organized, particular Edge had a little notebook on his desk. Nothing detailed. It resembled a grocery list more than anything. But there were a series of numbers with notes bulleted beneath. Resources. Barriers broken or not. Things taken. Deals made. At the bottom was a coded name noted as ‘dangerous and highly militaristic—caution’. Was this where they had gone? Was Sans waiting in the castle for dead men to return from a war campaign they needlessly waged? 

He shook himself. Answers. He needed answers.

So he went to the only place—and person—who could possibly put him on the right track.

Alphys.

She shrieked and fired a blaster at him when he appeared in the middle of her lab. He was still ‘inside’ which was a good enough loophole for Sans to exploit. Sans dodged to the side, “hey! look, it’s just me, sans! i come in peace.”

Alphys drew in thick, raspy breaths before slamming the weapon on a nearby table, “You scared the f-fuckin’ shit out of me!”

“sorry!”

She adjusted her glasses, her elevated lv combined with the dimness of the labs only adding to Sans’ mounting discomfort, “Why the hell are y-y-you down here?” Alphys stiffened, “You’re n-n-not losing the b-b-baby are you?!”

“wait, you know about it?”

“Well duh!”

“oh, right, you’re with undyne and i bet edge tells her everything.”

“Edge?”

“eh, just a nickname for the hubby,” Sans said dismissively. “since he’s such an edgelord. anyway, speaking of undyne, have you seen her? i’ve actually been lookin’ for her.”

Alphys’ voice was low, “Why?”

“oh, y’know, was just curious.”

“About?”

“...when edge was coming home? she’d know that, right? being captain of the guard.”

Alphys was quiet for a long spell, “She’s not here. S-s-she’s...with them.” She sniffed, “According to my c-c-calculations they should have been back...two days ago.”

“alph. what do you know about where they go and how they get there?”

“...Enough. Y-y-you should go back to your r-room. They’re fine. They’re always fine.”

“please.”

“I...I’ll tranq you.”

“and risk hurtin’ the souling?” Sans let the threat edge his words. He had easily dismissed Alphys as knowing anything about the machine when he first escaped, thinking Red would be too paranoid to let the scientist near it. Evidently there was still much for him to learn about this world and its inhabitants. “as prince consort, i order you to tell me what you know.”

Alphys was sweating now, her claws twitching like his own Alphys’ did when she was trapped between a wall and a hard decision. “Y-you d-d-don’t have any real authority over m-m-me,” she stuttered out.

_it’s kill or be killed. they communicate through violence and threats. negotiation might not work here._

Sans focused on the Judge and let it fill him up, magic swelling in his left socket in a flicker and a flash. Alphys yelped. He formed a single bullet, “you saw what i did to undyne’s hp. wanna really test my authority right now, alph?” And for all the spine she had compared to his own Alphys, this one was still a coward when faced with pressure. Killing him or accidentally harming the souling likely had worse outcomes than simply caving to Sans’ demands. (Not that she knew he was forbidden by the Rune from using offensive magic outside of defending himself. Luckily making a bullet wasn’t inherently aggressive, plenty of monsters used bullet patterns for communication.)

“F-f-f-fine! They used the machine to go off world. They b-brought Undyne for support. It isn’t unusual for them t-t-to take guardsmen with them b-b-but they took more than normal this time. Happy?”

“show me the machine.”

“I c-cant. I know the room b-b-but I can’t go in. It’s secured with an identity scanner.”

“take me there, then.”

Alphys growled, snatched her gun from the counter, and with great, visible reluctance, complied with his demand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left. >=]


	31. Crawl

A waking nightmare. That was the only way to describe the labs as Alphys escorted him down the halls. It wasn’t that they looked different than his own timeline, but eerily the same, from the metal floors to the flickering monitors on the walls. He hated it. He couldn’t quite place exactly why his bones crawled with disgust or why he wanted to ‘port out and never look back, but the feeling oozed through his manalines like a half-frozen slurry. Eventually, they came to stand before a door, just like all the others in the labs, with a hand scanner on one side, and blast marks all around the frame. Sans skimmed a phalange along a gouge mark.

“The last royal scientist was p-p-paranoid as hell,” Alphys groused. “I could access m-most rooms, or break into those I c-couldn’t. But there are a few like this that are reinforced. If anybody could remember who the f-fuck he was...whatever...” She glowered at the door. “T-then Sans just waltzed in here and fuckin’ figured out how to open them! And had the audacity to b-b-ban me from entering. Asshole.”

“an asshole you want to play doctor with,” Sans reminded her with a strained laugh.

She sniffed and hid her blush by ducking her head into the collar of her stained lab coat, “Shut up! Undyne would n-n-never go for it anyway.”

Sans cocked his head, “about that. i heard about edge and undyne were, ah, supposed to get hitched at one point. until i messed everything up by existing.”

Alphys didn’t look at him, “I would have been very h-h-happy for her. B-b-b-ut if you ask me, it’s better this way. I don’t have to compete with her b-b-best friend or the c-c-crown for her attention. Go on, call me a selfish bitch.”

“...why would i do that? you two obviously love each other.”

“Idiot!” she sputtered. “Fuck off.”

Sans held his hands up in a placating fashion before moving towards the door. Alphys muttered about how this was pointless and how they should just go back up to the main labs when Sans laid a palm over the scanner. It flashed blue. Beeped. And with a hiss, the door slid open.

“MOTHERFUCKING SKELETONS!” Alphys shrieked before breaking down into a fury of curses and stomping her feet. Sans rolled his eyelights with a huff and slipped inside, just before the door slid shut behind him, which resulted in even more cursing. She could really go on a blue streak. With the stutter it was almost cute. He could see why this world’s Undyne would find her likable, though he did have to wonder how they got together. Shrugging, he sought out a light switch, and blinked as fluorescents flickered to life. Sans’ breath caught. There before him was a hulking machine that took up most of the room, with a portal frame that spanned half the opposite wall, pillars of metal flanking either side, likely housing cables to power it.

And the top? Captured in a glass case was a single red soul with needles piercing the surface. The machine that broke a path between worlds was literally powered by DETERMINATION. But where did they get the soul? Was it the Fallen Human of their world or someone else? Sans examined the machine for a few minutes before touching the bare wall. This was how they traveled but it was empty. Were they trapped? Had the machine turned off behind them and stranded them? How would he even turn it back on? 

Sans stood at what he assumed was a control panel. His hands trembled.

_if they’re trapped, why rescue them? you could leave the machine off, be free of them._

And what? Be King of a foreign land until his kid was old enough to rule? Assuming either of them survived that long. No, he didn’t want to take over this place. 

_then go home. or bring papyrus here. make him king._

No. He wouldn’t try to install Papyrus as king here. But...he could go home. He would have his brother then. And this baby. It wouldn’t be that bad. Sure, there wasn’t much back home, but it was quieter...safer there. Paps would be the bestest uncle and if they were lucky, the kid wouldn’t even get too nosy about their parentage. It would be a good life.

As Sans lost himself in warring thoughts, a light on the panel began to blink rapidly. He sucked in a breath and watched the user panel whir to life, wingdings script and numbers speeding across the screen. Then it flashed before him:

 **OPEN GATE?**  
[YES] [NO]

It could be an enemy. Or another hapless Sans. Or it could be the Brothers. 

_you could be free._

Sans pressed the YES button. Despite everything (or maybe because of everything) he didn’t hate either of the skeleton brothers. 

_you’re just a pet aren’t you? lost without your master to leash and collar you? can’t live your life without getting fucked to remind you of the whore you’ve become?_

The portal came alive.

_it possibly isn’t even them. you probably just signed your death warrant._

A figure hobbled through the portal in battered armor. A helmet crashed to the ground as they sought to take in fresh breaths. It was Undyne, her eyes wild, her hands curled around the scruffs of two royal guards. She hauled them fully free of the portal with a yell, then whirled, staring at Sans with feral apprehension. But before she could go barging back into the bright, crimson void, Red shoved his way through on hands and knees, his armor in tatters, marrow leaking from his mouth, barely able to crawl. He thrust an arm forward and with the last sputter of blue magic, he tossed an unconscious Edge into the room. His helm was gone, his armor in disrepair, blackened and warped like he’d been blasted with laser fire. 

“turn the fuckin’ machine off!” Red snarled and Sans floundered to obey. He found a power button and slammed his fist on it, and a few seconds later, the portal sputtered shut. “yer weren’t supposed to be here.”

Sans couldn’t speak.

Red inched to Edge like an injured hound, his eyelights magic, his aura deadly. 

Nobody was doing anything productive, just sitting there on the floor, looking at one another. Sans met Undyne’s gaze, “help me get them all out to the med bay. alphys should have plenty of beds for everyone.” She opened her mouth and Sans flared his own aura in response, “do it. now. as prince consort, you report to me while my husband is indisposed, understood?”

“Yessir, your majesty,” Undyne replied. “I...I’ve stabilized as much as I could.” Then she was limping through the door. The Undyne of his world was a master of green magic, and though she tended to flaunt her proficiency at its offensive capabilities, relating to trapping opponents and forming barriers, she was an apt healer as well. No matter how much she and Papyrus sparred, she always sent him patched up. Well...she did...before the world went to hell. Sans sidled around Edge and Red for the moment and made sure the other guards weren’t actively dying, but as soon as he CHECKED one, the other collapsed into a pile of dust. 

So far and yet, he couldn’t hold on a little longer.

If only he wasn’t so shit with healing magic. After determining that the living guard was stable, he approached the brothers. 

“what happened?” he asked, voice pitched low, posture unthreatening. 

“their batshit queen and her nutty fishbitch scientist are what happened,” Red growled, yanking off his gloves and a curious cuff onto the floor. His breathing was labored. Standing near him was like wandering through a blizzard. “they...they did something to disable our return capacity.”

“...i think they flipped the door opening function to manual,” at Red’s bewildered look, Sans shrugged. “all i did was push the yes button when it asked if i wanted to open the gate.” They stared at one another, Red poised defensively over Edge, Sans standing back, as the realization fell upon them both. If Sans hadn’t been there. Hadn’t gotten off his coccyx and tripped through a few loopholes to bother Alphys, then the door wouldn’t have opened. They would have been trapped there. Dust. “heh, i uh...guess the mission didn’t go as planned?”

Red’s eyelights were razor thin when he pounced, dragging Sans to the ground with him.

Sans wondered if he was about to die in a laughably ironic way when Red crashed their teeth together, his mouth tasting of blood and dust. 

“god you’re warm,” Red muttered before hauling Sans into the grim pile of living bones in the middle of the floor. Edge stirred as Sans was shoved against him. 

“hey bud, good to see you’re waking up,” Sans murmured. Far more gently than Red, he pressed his teeth to Edge’s, a strange parody of Sleeping Beauty. Especially since Edge’s eyelight only flickered on for a second before sputtering back out. “you guys owe me an explanation later.”

“later,” Red grumbled before sagging against Sans. 

They were alive and safe.

And Sans was the fire that guided them out of the blizzard they had been lost in.

It took three days before the brothers woke up and stayed awake. Red raised hell when he realized that he was in Alphys’ care and the two screamed at each other for a while. That had been amusing. But they both quieted when Edge woke up and ordered them both to shut up, that he was trying to sleep. By the evening, both were well enough to stand up and of course, leave the labs on their own free will despite Alphys’ protests.

“get her off our case and yer can ‘ave whatever yer want,” Red said, still unsteady on his feet and clearly too agitated to focus on escape.

“anything?”

“your wildest effin’ fantasy. the boss tied to the bed and at yer mercy? done. yer brother moved into guest room in the castle? i’ll figure shit out. all the ketchup yer could eat?”

Sans interrupted him with a hand on his shoulder, “i get it.”

It took another few hours and some sweet talking, but the three of them ended the night in their own quarters. Edge’s HP was recovered but still low, his skull and ribs wrapped tight in bandages to help aid the healing matrix do its thing. Red had all his HP back, but his wounds were wrapped, no doubt there would be more scars formed soon. 

“want a bath?” Sans asked.

“fuck yeah,” Red replied. “but later. mebbe in the morning.”

“wasn’t askin’ you,” Sans quipped.

They continued to bicker lightly as they hobbled together to Sans and Edge’s bedroom, where Edge uncharacteristically flopped down, gritting his teeth when his injuries protested. Then he pulled Red and Sans down on either side of him. 

Nobody said another word. 

They simply slept. 

The next morning, with breakfast, there was a jumbo bottle of ketchup on Sans’ tray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!
> 
> 31 of 31 days completed on time. And I am tired. I hope to return to these boyos in the future, because as you can see, there is indeed more story to tell. But for now...Happy Halloween. Thank you for reading and for your support. Much love!
> 
> FIC NOTES:  
> \+ The fic's title loosely means 'Sworn to truth' or 'Sworn to loyalty/faithfulness/fidelity" which I thought was fitting for a fic about Sans' married life and all the various oaths he was under.
> 
> \+ The prompts reflect that of Inktober 2020
> 
> \+ Originally, Sans wasn't supposed to find the 'machine' as he knew. It was a later addition to include its presence in Red's room.
> 
> \+ Originally, there were no letters between Sans and Papyrus planned
> 
> \+ In the first outline, Red and Sans do sleep together in 'Music' and Sans is left feeling guilty despite assurances from both brothers that they don't mind. It didn't quite gel with the final draft.
> 
> \+ Red and Sans have a few parallels. Including trying to fix their intimacy issues and needs with sex, and a general distrust of the intentions of others and low self worth. Red, for all his teasing and their more intimate encounters, never expected Sans to join him in the shower.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [tumblr](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/) for fanart, polls and more!


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